Genesis, Lamentations, Revelations
by Shelbie's Whatchamacallit
Summary: The entire set compiled into one convenient place. More for my sanity and neatness, in all honesty. Same basic idea of life, love, and dead-people-who-deserve-it. From movie one to two, now a three-shot.
1. Genesis

**Genesis**

_Author's Note: Firstly, I apologize to those of you who wrote reviews on the previous one-shots. As noted, I was commencing work on a new Boondock story (what a stretch, I know), and due to the fact that I would like neatness in my stories, I eventually decided that these should be compiled into a single story, for convenience more than anything. Now then, I don't expect anyone to re-write reviews, and I blame fanfiction for getting dicey, and not allowing me to export all three parts of the story (for a reason I can't identify). Therefore, I just want to say that I loved your reviews, reviewers. You are the main reason this story even exists, as such, don't feel obligated to re-write any reviews. Nothing has been changed, this is simply a re-release of the same story. Thanks again, all my readers out there. (And if you really feel compelled, I still enjoy getting constructed criticism, but again, don't feel obligated.)_

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><p>When they had started this mission, this duty to kill all evil men, it hadn't seemed like it would be this difficult. It hadn't seemed like it would swell and completely consume their lives. And yet, here they were. Neither he nor his brother had a life outside of drinking, shooting, smoking, and sneaking. Their Da was instructing them further in the art of slaughter, but even then, all three were detached, de-synthesized from the violence, and, it was starting to seem, from each other.<p>

That's why Connor was alone tonight. He hadn't had the heart to sit and talk with his Da, a man he scarcely knew outside of the violence and his Ma's stories. A man who still seemed ethereal to him, despite having spent almost every night around him for the last two months. And Murphy…hell, he and Murphy hadn't fought like that since they were fucking teenagers. Connor felt like he was stretched too thin, and, he could admit, that he had taken out his tiredness a little unfairly on Murphy. But what his twin couldn't understand, was that the only way Connor could carry on with the endless killing was to treat it all like a very large and exciting video game. He had to believe that the good guys would always win, that everything would work out, like the movies. It was the only way he could cope. But since Rocco…he had suddenly felt the suffocating effects of reality on their calling. He hadn't really considered what might happen if they didn't win a shoot-out before Rocco. What if Murphy or Da weren't far behind him?

"Shit." Connor muttered aloud to himself, hiding in a back corner of a seedy bar. They still weren't sure how close anyone outside of Smecker was to catching them, but he wasn't willing to risk going to one of his usual haunts. Not right now anyway. He was a little disgusted at himself, for feeling scared. But, he figured a moment later, as soon as he was finished with the whiskey he was planning to start ordering up in a minute, he could drown out the fear, at least a little bit. Liquid courage the stuff was.

And then, his night went to hell.

He hadn't been paying much attention to the Italian guy sitting at the bar, but he had figured the guy for a sleaze ball. He just had that typical, overly-greased, I'm-a-fucking-gangster-and-everyone-should-know-it sort of look. Connor was brought to attention when another Italian came in and started speaking hurriedly, hell, he could have been the first guy's clone, save for the fact he had a rather nasty scar spanning out from one corner of his mouth, dragging that side of his lips down into a perpetual frown. They were speaking in very rushed, quiet tones, but Connor was able to catch enough of it to know that they were up to no good.

The scarred one was muttering about someone being late, and he only had one piece of "merchandise", he had hesitated before saying that, looking over to give a scrutinizing look in Connor's direction, he pretended to be a dumb American, not able to understand them, and the Italian continued. He then said that "it", though he had said 'she' the first time, probably wouldn't be any good, that it/she was completely inactive. The one who had been sitting at the bar instructed him to bring her/it, and Connor was now fairly certain that they were talking about a someone rather than a something, and it sounded female, in so he could have a look. Connor continued to watch out of the corner of his eye as the scarred one left and then returned a few minutes later, this time with a girl in tow. A girl who was obviously too young to be in a bar, but painted up like a hooker, in a tiny skirt and an even smaller shirt; she had the curves of an adult woman, but the naive, wide-eyes of a child. Her short coffee-colored hair was in tangles, looking like someone had been pulling it, and she had the faintest of dark tear tracks of mascara down her cheeks. She shivered under the scrutiny of the two leering Italians, though somehow, Connor figured it was the cold rather than fear. She looked neutrally back at the two of them, her shoulders hunched forward, until one of them snapped at her to stand up straight. Connor felt his brow furrow a little. Firstly, because the girl clearly had no bra on, and he felt rather invasive for looking, and secondly, because he knew she had either been involved in some fucked up shit, or would be in a few minutes, and the bastards hadn't even given her a jacket. It was Boston for Christ's sake, they could have at least let her wear a sweater.

The first guy reached out and gave her a grope, which didn't faze the girl in the least, but made Connor bristle in a vicariously defensive sort of way, and asked if she was real and whether she was on drugs. Scar-face said yes and no, respectively, then added that she was clean, and that he had tried her out himself a little while ago, and that's why he knew that she was no good. At this point, Connor was standing up and dragging a nine-millimeter out from under his jacket, having not come fully armed, but ready for trouble none-the-less, and ready to shoot both the assholes before they seriously harmed this little girl. She may not have fit the average description of good, but she didn't want to be here, and for now, that was enough for him. The first gangster glanced at him as he stood from the booth, gun out of his sight, and nodded his head to the back of the bar, telling Scar-face to bring the girl upstairs. They ducked through a door, girl still in tow, while Connor debated if shooting them in full view of the public was a good idea or not, though there wasn't really much to consider the public, other than the bartender and a waitress. Before he could decide, he locked eyes with the girl, her big brown irises meeting his piteously, and looking partially ashamed. Her eyes begged him for salvation, as though she knew exactly who he was and what he was planning to do to the two Italian guys dragging her through the door.

"Help." She mouthed the single word at him with no change in her expression, then turned and walked willingly away, leaving him to decide, as though she had simply asked and didn't expect him to reciprocate. The door slammed closed just as Connor took the first step toward it.

"Sunuvabitch." He hissed at the door, twisting the knob and finding it locked. Goddamnit, that girl was up there with two complete and utter lecherous creeps, and Connor had been too slow to do anything about it. Some fucking vigilante he was. "Fucker!" He cursed at the door a little louder, giving it a good kick. While he silently and vehemently scolded himself for his slow fucking reaction time, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Connor turned and found the waitress looking up at him expectantly. "Yeah?" He asked, not sure what she wanted.

"Are you going to help that girl?" She nodded to the door behind him.

"Aye. T'at was the plan," He said with a sigh. Except for he had fucked it up.

"Do you have a gun? You're going to need one."

"Yeah…" He looked at the waitress a little suspiciously now, as she was starting to sound like she might be setting him up for something. Though he wasn't sure what.

"Good. I'll take y'round back.," She said, turning toward the door and leading the way. Skeptical, but curious, Connor followed.

"Why're y-"

"I saw her for the first time six months ago. With that scar-faced guy. They took her upstairs and I could hear her screaming all night. I haven't been able to sleep since, knowing that she was still with that fat-fuck somewhere, probably getting beaten and raped. She's been in and out of this place ever since, and she's only sixteen. I want you to save her." Connor didn't respond to the account the waitress had given him, but it sent his blood boiling. He fucking hated rapists, more than he hated any other kind of sinner. He especially hated the kind that preyed on young girls like that, took their childhood and stomped it into the ground. They were definitely dead when he got up there. Straight to fucking hell. He wasn't even going to pray over the assholes. The waitress stopped outside a wide metal door, taking a key out of the pocket of her apron and unlocking the door. "Get out as soon as you're done. The barkeep is a friend of theirs," She motioned up the rickety looking set of wooden stairs she had led him too, obviously meaning the Italian guys. Connor nodded, and steeled himself as the waitress walked away.

He was suddenly unsure. When it had still been spur of the moment, this had seemed like a good idea. Now that he realized he was going in alone, with no plan, and no clue what he was going to do when he rescued the girl, it seemed really stupid. Should he go get Murphy and make him help? What if there wasn't time for that? She could be hurt or gone by the time he got back to the hotel where they were staying, and brought back-up along for the ride.

He thought of the girl, the look in her eyes when she had silently asked him for help. Fuck it. This was his thing now, she fucking needed divine intervention, and it appeared God was busy for the moment. She'd have to make do with him as a stand-in.

Gun in hand, finger itching over the trigger, Connor crept up the stairs, cringing every time his weight made one creak. Halfway up, he could hear shouting, threats and names that were definitely directed at a female, and a short, sharp cry of pain that he guessed was from the girl. And he just about fucking snapped. He forgot stealth of any sort and started up the stairs at a dead run, kicking open the sad excuse that served as the back door into what he guessed was the barkeeper's office. The one with the scar was standing off to the side, his pants undone, and the greasy one had the poor little girl bent over the desk, shouting at her to keep her hands where they were, flat on the desk top, and keep her legs open, yanking her head back by a fistful of her hair, her underwear around her ankles, and a look of distinct pain on her face. She stared over at him, and her eyes pleaded with him. Connor's heart broke for her, and his trigger finger killed for her. Straight shots to the head, both of them, the blood from the one raping her barely missing her as it sprayed through the air.

After they fell, she stood by the desk, her face still locked in the space-cadet look she'd been wearing in the bar, but her eyes darting between him and the dead mobsters on the floor, not fixing her underwear, not that they really counted as much, a scrap of lace that could barely pass as being there, a white stain on her skirt. She glanced at it, and then brushed at it with her fingers, as though she was worried what he would think of it. Honestly, he didn't feel much of anything right now. That was the closest he'd ever been to a rape. He'd never witnessed one before, and was glad he hadn't. What kind of sick fuck could do that to such a young girl? Didn't _they_ feel anything?

"Are…are y'alright?" He asked, not sure what else to say. It was fairly obvious that she wasn't okay, he probably sounded like an idiot for asking. She met his eyes for a brief moment, then looked down again and shrugged, brushing more intently at the stain. "Y'got somewhere t'go?" Her eyes drifted to Scar-face, and then she shook her head. Ah fuck. Now what was he supposed to do with her? Take her to a hospital maybe? He wasn't sure he would trust her in a hospital. She looked like she'd walk out and go right back into the mafia, just for lack of anywhere better to go. Besides, he doubted she had the money or the insurance to pay hospital bills. He made his decision in a matter of seconds. "I'm takin' ya 'ome with me, a'right? Y'can get cleaned up, an' we'll decide wha' t'do from there."

She nodded silently at him. Didn't argue, didn't question. Just agreed. He wondered how she'd gotten like this, so silently complacent, and then thought that perhaps he didn't want to know. She ducked down a bit, and pulled her underwear back up, tugging her skirt down, though it didn't do much but reveal more of her stomach. She was shaking again, and looked at him as though expecting instructions.

"Y'need a coat?" She shook her head. "Yes y'do. Y'look like yer gonna shiver right outta yer skin." Glancing around, and seeing none available, he shrugged out of his, taking the gun out of the pocket, just in case, and held it out to her. She made no move to take it, just eyed the gun warily. Connor sighed a little. He could tell that this was going to be a very difficult girl to help. He tucked the gun into his waistband, not really having anywhere else to put it, and draped the coat around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her skin, and he jolted a little at the contact. She was like ice.

"C'mon then." Once again, she silently obeyed, tailing him down the stairs like a nervous kitten. Afraid to get to close, but not wanting to wander too far away either.

She stayed the same distance behind him the whole way out into the street and down the block, about two feet behind him, never drifting out of step with him, as though she had been taught to march in the military. "Are ya…'ungry or somethin'?" He asked, really wishing she would say something. He'd settle for a simple 'yes' or 'no' right now. No answer. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the dregs of a head shake. She was going to rattle her brain loose at this rate. "Y'got a name?" She stopped abruptly, looking at him in utter surprise. Then her eyes went back to the ground, and she shrugged. "Y'dunno yer own name?" Another shrug. "What'm I s'posed t'call ya then?" Connor almost wanted to shake her when she shrugged again. He prayed the Lord wouldn't let him lose his patience. "If y'don' tell me a name, I'm gonna 'ave to make somethin' up fer ya. I could call y'Catherine. I gotta cousin in Ireland named Catherine, y'kinda look like 'er." She glanced up at him again, but still said nothing, then abruptly veered off to the side, into a small store with a bookshelf in the back, which she made a bee-line for, Connor following, curious and slightly annoyed. She could have just told him. How hard was it to say a name? Then again, he wasn't sure how all-together she was. She could be seriously psychologically or physically damaged and not able to talk, who was he to judge? She picked up a small book bound in fake red leather, and his curiosity grew when he saw it was the Bible. She flipped through the pages, and then held it out to him, one finger on the page, gesturing to the tiny print.

She had opened it to the section about Adam and Eve, pointing at their names. "So…Eve then? Unless…yer really a boy?" She shook her head, though he hoped she knew he was kidding. "Evey?" He tried again, tacking on the 'y' for the sole reason that it sounded more childish. She looked like a girl who had been treated like anything but a child, despite her young age, and he wanted to hand a little of her lost childhood back to her. Besides, it was what came to mind when he looked at her. She flushed a bright red. "Y'mind me callin' y'Evey?" She shook her head, still a bit red in the cheeks. "Well, nice t'meet'cha Evey. I'm Connor," He held out a hand, offering her a shake. She stared at him, and then his hand, clutching the little Bible to her chest, as though terrified he was going to hit her. "A'right…maybe it's not nice t'meet me then," He said, lowering his hand a little awkwardly. About when he had it lowered back to his side, she stuck her hand out suddenly, and grasped his for the briefest moment before pulling her arm back against his jacket, sitting far too large over her narrow shoulders and making her look tiny. Okay. So maybe she wasn't completely terrified of the opposite sex, that had been what he was starting to think, and he couldn't say he blamed her. But, after that, maybe there was still a little hope for her. If she ever started talking she might have a shot at getting a regular life.

He glanced around the store, and noticed that there was a coffee machine in the corner. Praise be. He was going to need some caffeine to wash down what little alcohol he'd managed to consume. He wanted to be sober enough to catch anything this girl said, just in case she told him something useful.

Connor headed for the coffee pots, Eve tailing him after setting the Bible back in it's place, on top of a stack of identical little red books. "Y'want one?" He asked, when he noticed her watching him pour out coffee intently. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded shyly. He handed her a cardboard cup, and held the coffee pot out to her. Gingerly, she apparently expected the coffee pot to shatter the second she touched it, Eve went about making herself coffee, measuring cream and sugar in exact proportions with his. She was definitely precise, he'd give her that.

After counting out a handful of change that added up to two-fifty to pay for the coffees, Connor headed back outside, Eve right back on his heels, two feet behind him, just like before. She carried the coffee in both hands, her feet silently matching his steps. She took a drink only after he did, and made the most awful face he'd ever seen anyone make after a sip of coffee. "Why di'n't ye say so if y'di'n't like it?" He asked, trying not to laugh at her scrunched up expression. It was really…cute, for lack of a better word. She looked at him with the stare of one who thought she was in trouble, but shrugged. "It grows on ya. 'Til it does, y'better stick with a lot o' sugar." She nodded like he'd said something very profound, and Connor just let it go at that, not sure, in her mind, what he had told her to do. Hopefully nothing damaging. "Y'can walk with me if y'want y'know. It's weird 'avin' y'follow me like that," He added, as she fell into step behind him again. He heard her jog the two extra steps to break even with him, and her head appeared in his peripheral, bobbing along as she matched his pace.

Connor attempted to talk to her a few more times on the way to the hotel, not liking the silence, but when he was met with the wall of her head shakes, nods, or shrugs each time, the conversation died pretty quickly. He tried to figure out where she had come from, what she was doing here, things that might be helpful in deciding what to do with her later, but she wouldn't give him even the slightest of hints. Just shrugged to anything that wasn't a direct question, and nodded or shook to those that were yes or no. Sometimes she didn't respond at all, and would more or less ignore him for the coffee that she was seeming to develop a liking too. Or maybe she was only liking it to have something else to do when she didn't want to answer. He hadn't a fucking clue. He didn't understand her. At all.

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><p>"Who the fuck izzat?" Murphy asked, pointing an almost accusatory finger at Eve the second she trailed Connor through the door.<p>

"Eve."

"Eve?" His twin repeated skeptically, evidently waiting for Connor to divulge further detail. Pity that all he knew was her name. That and that she probably had a slapstick sense of humor. She had just about smiled when he had nearly tripped and spilled his coffee all over the street, cursing up a storm. She had then promptly offered her half-finished cup to him as a replacement, but after that, her face had gone back to bland.

"Tha's all she's tol' me," He shrugged, Murphy still looking at him, silently demanding an explanation for her. "An' she di'n't even actually tell me, jus' pointed it out in the Bible. I don' think she 'as anywhere to go." Eve corroborated his story with a nod, peering at Murphy from a safe distance, around Connor's shoulder.

"Well, wha' the fuck are we s'posed t'do with her?" Murphy asked, looking her up and down, her half-naked self only partially covered by Connor's coat.

"I dunno," Connor said honestly. Eve fidgeted under Murphy's scrutiny, shifting so she was some-what concealed behind Connor. "Stop starin'. Yer bein' fuckin' rude."

Murphy rolled his eyes heavenward, and then looked back at Da, who was sitting in a chair and reading the newspaper casually, more or less ignoring what was transpiring between his sons. "Looks like Connor brough' a stray kitten 'ome. Wha' should we do with 'er?"

"Well, y'ought t'get the lass proper clothin', hadn't you?" He said, looking up from his paper and nodding to Eve, who had backed even further behind Connor, to the point of almost being wedged between him and the door. "She can't do much dressed like tha'."

"I s'pose not. We ain't got any girls clothes though," Connor said, glancing at Eve with a raised eyebrow. She stared at the floor. Was she embarrassed maybe? What he would give to be telepathic right now.

"S'go t'the store down the street," Da said, giving them both a look that told them they had been assigned the mission. Murphy looked indignant that he had been volunteered, but he wasn't going to argue. Or Connor hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want to go buy girl's clothes alone.

"Y'want to stay here with Da? It's warmer in 'ere," Connor turned to Eve, who just sort of stared back at him neutrally. Then she shrugged. "Can I have m'coat back?" She stripped out of it instantly, holding it out to him. "We'll bring y'some clothes back. Wha' abou' food? Y'hungry yet?" She gave him a very slight nod, as though embarrassed to admit it.

"Y'like chocolate?" Murphy asked, shrugging into his own coat. She turned her big, empty eyes to him and shrugged. Murphy looked a little confused, then simply filled the space for her. "I'll bring y'some, chocolate ne'er hurts anybody." She gave a feeble looking nod as the brothers left the room, closing out the cold before she started shaking again. "Why don' she talk?" Murphy asked, following Connor down the stairs and back into the street. The argument they had been having before all this was silently forgiven and forgotten.

"I dunno. I guess she's just traumatized r'somethin'," Connor shrugged, "She 'asn't said a single word t'me since I saw 'er at the bar."

"Y'found 'er in a bar?" Murphy asked skeptically.

"Some fuckin' Mafioso's were rapin' 'er."

"Oh…oh." Murphy's eyes widened in understanding. "Y'kill 'em?"

"Course I did," Connor said, sighing a little. Not to say he was remorseful, far from it. But hell, shouldn't it bother him that he just went around shooting people? Even though they always fucking well had it coming, shouldn't he feel a little bit…bad about taking a life? Probably not. They didn't usually have much to live for anyway. He hated to think what would have happened to Eve if he hadn't killed them. The image of what he had walked in on was probably going to be haunting his nightmares for awhile though.

"Well hell, now I really don' know wha' we're s'posed t'do. Y'wanna keep 'er?"

"She's not a fuckin' pet Murph'. I can't just go decidin' t'keep 'er like one," Connor grumbled.

"What'd you bring 'er back for then? What y'shoulda done was take 'er to a 'ospital r'somthin'."

"I di'n't think she'd stay there, otherwise I woulda."

"But y'thought she'd be fine goin' to a 'otel room full o' men?" Murphy rolled his eyes, indicating that he thought Connor was an idiot. He usually seemed to think that.

"I di'n't really know what else t'do, a'right? I figured at least this way she di'n't stand around with a coupla dead guys 'til the cops picked 'er up an' she got blamed fer me shootin' the bastards."

"So what, y'wanna jus' let 'er tag along while we go an' shoot down Mafia sonsabitches?"

"No. Course not. I'll find 'er somewhere t'stay. Fer now though, I think she's better off wit' us an' Da."

"Sure." Murphy rolled his eyes, looking annoyed, pushing open the door to the store with a flurry of arms, getting a little carried away in his irritation. Putting it simply, Murphy didn't like having girls around. He had an underlying paranoia about girls getting between he and Connor. The twins were innately competitive, especially for attention, whether it was from a woman or their mutual friends. Going out and meeting them was one thing, but bringing a girl home was stepping over his invisible line. Connor got that, but it wasn't like he was attracted to Eve. She was a cutie, no denying that, but she was a fucking kid. He was three years shy of thirty. There was nothing there, and Murphy was being gross for thinking so. She wasn't even legal for Christ's sake.

The mini-superstore they had arrived in didn't have much in the way of clothes. Most of it was unisex, and very bland. They supposed she didn't really care about being fashionable though. Or they hoped anyway. They had gathered a pair of jeans that looked about her size, one of those packages of three white t-shirts in medium, figuring they couldn't go wrong with a medium, and a rather big sweat-shirt, unable to find any jackets, and assuming she would need something warm.

"Y'supose we should get 'er some…under…things?" Murphy asked as they passed the ladies section, on the way to the grocery portion of the store. "I mean, she wa'n't wearin' a bra, she migh' need one."

"I dunno. How'd ya know she wa'n't wearin' one?" Connor asked, unable to resist poking a little fun at his brother, grinning when Murphy shifted uncomfortably.

"S'fuckin' obvious, i'n'it? Don' tell me y'weren't lookin' at some point. How d'ya know wha' size yer s'posed t'get?"

"Fuck if I know. I don' 'ave tits," Connor said, figuring Murphy was right. She probably needed clean underthings in addition to a bra. Which put them in a predicament. Neither of them had any clue as to what the random letters and numbers on the tags meant. What the fuck was the difference between the numbers and the letters anyway? There were about a million and five choices, and some of them looked the same, but the tags proclaimed them several letters or numbers apart. Connor pulled a purple one off the rack inquisitively, but put it back when he decided it looked too big. The next looked too small. "This's fuckin' ridiculous. Why can't they 'ave fuckin' regular sizes on 'em?"

"D'ya know how big 'er-" Murphy had been waving his hands in front of his chest, apparently indicating breasts, but stopped short when he saw a lady over in the sock section staring at them with her eyebrow raised nearly into her hairline. Connor tossed the bra in his hand back on the rack quickly.

"Uhm-" He started awkwardly, surprised when she smiled a bit at the two of them.

"Girlfriend lose her bra?"

"Well…uhm…"

"Go with a 34 B. That's sort of the end-all size that most girls can squeeze into unless they're really flat, or really huge. Assuming she's not either of those, that's your best bet." Connor gave an unsure nod, and searched through the rack until he found one labeled 34 B, it was plain and a soft pink, he figured Eve wouldn't care about lace and what not. She nodded with a smile when he glanced over, looking for some sort of indication as to whether it was a good choice. He nodded a thanks and tucked the bra under his arm, partially hidden by the sweat-shirt for the sake of not looking like a total pervert, while she started off toward the children's clothes.

"Hey uhm…What kinda underwear d'ya buy fer a girl?" Murphy looked mortified that he had actually said that out loud to someone he didn't know, but Connor didn't want to end up with something two sizes too small. The lady smiled warmly, apparently finding it amusing, and made her way back over to the boys, Murphy drifting off so as not to look like he was involved in shopping for women's underwear.

"About how big is she?"

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><p>Noah watched the girl, Eve, Connor had said her name was, as she amused herself with a notepad and a pen from the side table, sitting cross-legged on the bed, she had chosen Connor's he noticed, doodling random little shapes and sketches.<p>

"Can ye write dear?" He asked, curious about her. Connor said she hadn't spoken to him, but she had been able to point out her name in the bible, so maybe she could read and write well enough to communicate that way. She froze in mid-sketch, looking over at him nervously. "Yer alright, nobody is goin' t' 'urt you. Least of all me or m'boys. If ye don' wan' t'speak, t'would make it easier if y'could write for us."

She nodded down at the paper, but didn't offer anything other than that. Noah watched her thoughtfully as she scribbled out the word 'VERITAS', in various different fonts. She was trying to mimic how it was done on Connor's hand he guessed. She seemed like a clever girl, and from what little handwriting she put on the page, it appeared like she had at least gone through basic schooling. What was she doing in a bar, where Connor would have needed to get involved the way he had? He supposed she didn't speak because she was still in a bit of shock, and he could only imagine what from, but if he had to guess based on the clothes, or lack there of, that she was wearing, and the hateful look that had been in Connor's eyes, she had been part of the sex trade. And it seemed like his son had gotten a little close for his comfort. Which was probably why he had brought her here rather than take her to a hospital. It was his first brush with such a thing, and he was determined to fix it himself, help the victim. Killing the evil and helping the innocent were, in equal parts, their calling. But the ones like her, the ones with the permanent look of sadness in their eyes, were the ones that got into your heart, and plastered their faces on the victims of every crime you witnessed after that. It didn't help that she was so young. Connor was probably going to appoint himself her own personal guardian angel without even realizing it. Noah found himself shaking his head slightly, hoping he didn't get too attached too quickly.

"Maybe y'should go clean up, 'fore the boys ge' back wit' yer clean clothes," He suggested, gesturing to the bathroom in the corner. She nodded silently and set her pen and paper down, keeping her eyes averted to the floor as she walked past him. At the door, she paused, and hurried back to her pad of paper, scooping it up in her arms and writing out something quickly, before handing it to him and vanishing into the bathroom, the door closing with a click.

Noah's mouth quirked up into a little smile. Strange, strange girl. She couldn't seem to decide whether she liked him or not. He glanced down at the paper she had shoved into his hand, and found two words jotted down crookedly, but in clear handwriting, the writing of a young girl.

_Thank You_.

About the time Connor and Murphy hauled their shopping bag apiece into the hotel room, and a pizza box balanced in Connor's hand, Eve had discovered the TV. Sitting on the end of Connor's bed, her hair damp, wearing one of the boys sweaters, which thankfully was long enough to cover her decently, despite falling off one of her shoulders, the remote in her hand, and a re-run of 'Knight Rider' glaring off the screen. Da was looking rather engrossed as well. He probably hadn't seen much TV in prison, but still, you'd think he'd look a little less like a zombie.

Murphy dug around in his plastic bag, producing the Hershey's bar he'd grabbed at the last second. "Here y'go Kit," He smiled, looking proud of himself, holding it out to her. She took it delicately between two fingers, staring at him blankly. "I told ya I was gonna bring ya chocolate." She nodded in understanding, but didn't eat it. Just set it in her lap.

"Did'ya ge' 'er any real food?" Da questioned, giving the chocolate bar a scathing look.

"Course we did. We got pizza." Connor hefted the box to where he could see it.

"One o' ya is gonna 'ave t'learn to cook some day," He said, shaking his head a bit at the two of them. "I s'pose it'll do fer now though."

"'Ow many slices y'want Evey?" Connor asked, setting the box and bag down on the dresser, opening the cardboard in the hope that the smell would entice her, because she didn't look all that motivated to come and eat. She set the chocolate and remote aside, sliding off the bed, tugging the sweater down so she was decently covered, and walked over to peer down at the pizza. Connor and Murphy stood and waited, and she stared down at the pizza like she expected it to move. Figuring a demonstration was in order, just in case she'd like, never eaten pizza or something, Connor reached out and grabbed a slice, setting it in her hands, before taking one himself and taking a bite, waiting for her to follow his example, like she had with the coffee. "Y'gonna like…eat? S'what we got it for." He asked after a moment, Murphy having also taken a slice, also trying to show Eve that it was edible, who was still looking a bit cautious about the slice in her hand. "S'jus' fuckin' food, t'ain't gonna 'urt ya."

She finally shrugged and took a bite, apparently he just had to throw in a 'fuck', and her eyes lit up. "Mm."

"Hey! That was almost a word!" Murphy said, looking excited, like it was his first child learning to talk. Eve abruptly retreated behind Connor, her face flaring. Murphy looked like she had just stomped on his foot. "The fuck y'like 'im more for? 'E's the fuckin' loud one." Eve shrugged, and Connor snickered at his brother a little for being shot down. She probably just felt safer with him because she had gotten familiar with him first. Kind of like a cat. She had very kitten-like characteristics. It seemed Murphy thought so as well, which was probably why he had randomly decided to call her 'Kit'.

"Don' mind Murphy. 'E don' mean y'any harm. 'E fancies 'imself bein' cuter n'me is all." She quirked an eyebrow at him, taking another bite of her pizza.

Murphy pretended to look offended. "Yer breakin' me heart, Kit."

Maybe he really was offended, judging from that tone.

The jeans were about two sizes too big, nearly falling around Eve's knees before Connor made a return trip to the store to buy her a belt, the shirts fit alright, but they had misjudged the size of the sweatshirt, because it was also at least a size too big, but she seemed happy with the outfit, rolling up the sleeves so that they weren't too cumbersome. About an hour after the pizza had vanished, Eve remembered the chocolate bar Murphy had brought for her, and she broke it into four pieces, passing them out to the brothers and Da. She didn't eat hers until they had all taken a bite. Connor wondered why she did that. She had only eaten or drank something after one or all of them had done so first. Was it her way of seeing whether food was safe? Or was it something that a couple of controlling assholes pounded into her after months of abuse just for the sick fucking kicks? The thought set him to boiling, but he reminded himself that she would be okay now. She was safe here, with them, and he would find her a decent place to stay, with decent people to take care of her. She'd be just fine. Eventually. If he ever got her to talk. She'd have a hard time if she didn't start speaking at some point.

"Hey, where's the kitten gonna sleep?" Murphy asked suddenly, at around one in the morning, glancing around their small room. They now had two beds between four people.

"She'll 'ave to use one o' our beds," Connor said with a shrug.

"Well, I vote yers. Seein' as she's already there," Murphy pointed to Eve sitting contentedly in the center of the mattress, watching another re-run, this time of Star Trek. It seemed she was infatuated with William Shatner. Or at least found him entertaining. She got a little happier looking when he came on the screen. She glanced over at them as they had their debate, disinterested in the commercials that had come on. Then she stood up, and walked over to the couch, flopping down on it instead, taking one of the pillows off Connor's bed with her. Both boys looked at her a little surprised, she looked over at them, and smiled. Or, she at least attempted to smile. It looked like she was a little out-of-practice. It was better than the mopey look that had been starting to seem permanent though.

"No no, Evey, yer s'posed to take the bed." Connor said, while she went about getting comfortable on the flowery printed couch, turning so she was facing the telly. She answered him with a shrug, and continued to contently cuddle the pillow. "Yer not sleepin' on the couch." She nodded that she was, and didn't move.

"Aw, let the kitten 'ave 'er way," Murphy said, giving Connor's shoulder a light shove. "If ye don' wanna keep 'er then ya'd best stop tryin' t'adopt 'er."

"She might' be more comfortable t'ere." Da piped up from his chair, where he had swapped his newspaper for a TIME magazine that looked a few years out of date. Neither of the boys had seen him sleep yet. Connor figured he just drifted off in the chair occasionally, but he still had never seen it happen. "Away from t'e two o' ye."

"Wha'? D'we make ye nervous r'somethin' Kit?" Murphy asked, grinning over at her. She looked at the floor for a brief moment, then nodded. Murphy bit his lip, probably feeling like a jerk. "Well, uhm, sorry y'feel that way I s'pose. Bu' s'not like we ever tried t'hurt ya."

Eve shrugged, as if to say that she was sorry too, but she couldn't help it. Which she probably couldn't.

"Well, yer gonna need a blanket." Connor broke the transcending silence, hoping to re-forge the link they had been making with her. She may not have talked yet, but she had been getting more comfortable, and he'd hate to see her take a step backwards, retreat back into the shell she had been in earlier that day.

* * *

><p>Connor found the additional warmth very nice. At least, he did at first. Then he started to wonder where it was coming from. The warmth moved closer, clinging close to his chest, nuzzling under his arm, which had been slung over the edge of the mattress as he lay on his side. His eyes snapped open, and he found Eve's head tucked under his chin, laying on her side as well, in his bed, so that she was stomach to stomach with him. He was up against the wall in a matter of seconds, muffling a sharp swear.<p>

"Hush up. You'll wake 'er," Da scolded, standing by an open window with a cigar.

"Wha' the fuck is she doin' in me bed?" Connor demanded in a hoarse whisper. He had been just as startled by the fact that it was Eve as he was by waking up with an additional person occupying his bed. His heart was going a little bit faster than usual.

"She said she 'ad a nightmare, an' tha' she felt better wit' you bein' close. Di'n't wan' t'wake you though."

"She said? Did she talk t'ya?" Connor asked, surprised. Why couldn't she talk to him if she could talk to his Da and then crawl into bed with him? Seemed a little skewed to him.

"No' exactly." Da reached to his side, picking up a pad of paper and showing Connor a one-sided conversation scribbled out in what he guessed was Eve's handwriting. "I don' know if she'll ever start talkin'," He sighed a bit, setting the pad back on the table he'd got it from.

"Why di'n't she jus' wake me up?"

"She t'inks yer an angel," Da said, nodding to Eve, and tossing the stub of his cigar out the window. "She's afraid y'll turn out t'not be real if she talks t'ya."

"Angel, huh? No' exactly the word I'd use," Connor said, glancing at Eve also, who was curling around his pillow, evidently looking for his body heat. "I killed two people righ' in front o' 'er."

"Yer not lookin' at it from 'er side. Those probably weren't the first, nor the last men t'would 'ave 'urt 'er. She asked fer 'elp, and y'gave it t'er. Yer prob'ly the first one who ever even tried to 'elp 'er, prob'ly the only one who's treated 'er like a person."

"Poor thing," Connor mumbled under his breath, knowing Da was probably right. The kind of damage done to her took years and years to accomplish, she had been involved in this sort of thing a lot longer than the six months he'd originally figured. And it really made him want to bust in on every asshole who even thought of touching a girl her age with guns blazing. Unfortunately, he probably didn't have that many bullets on him. It made him wonder why she wanted to be so close to him. She shouldn't want to be anywhere near someone of the opposite gender, let alone one who committed seemingly random acts of vigilante violence. Not to mention it wasn't exactly innocent, climbing into bed with him in the middle of the night, whether he was a good catholic boy or not. It felt weird, and it was wrong. "I'm jus'…I'm gonna sleep on the couch."

Connor raised an eyebrow when Da chuckled. "If ye sleep on the couch, she'll more t'an likely be sleepin' on top o' ye when she 'as anot'er nightmare."

* * *

><p>Connor felt like he hadn't slept all night. And he more or less hadn't. Because Da, of course, had been spot on about Eve having another nightmare. Luckily, she didn't try to sleep on top of him, just sat holding onto his arm for hours on end. It was very difficult to sleep like that. They ended up spending most of what was left of the night channel-surfing through infomercials and old cartoons, which were apparently the only things on cable between the hours of three and seven in the morning. She didn't drift off to sleep again until about eight, which was when Murphy got up.<p>

"The fuck y'doin'?" Murphy asked, raising an eyebrow at Connor, who was sitting on the couch, Eve curled into a little ball next to him, her arms clutched around his middle like she would drown if she let him go.

Connor sighed and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles in response. "Evey's been 'avin' fuckin' nightmares all night. She jus' now wen' back t'sleep."

"Y'bore 'er t'sleep?" Murphy questioned, glancing at the TV, where a jewelry exhibition was being shown.

"Aye. T'was about all tha' worked," Connor said, completely serious. He had about bored himself to sleep while he was at it. "Da went t'talk t'one o' the Donovans abou' Evey stayin' wit' em. Say's we're not t'leave 'er alone."

"I don' think she'll be lettin' ya go much o' anywhere wit'out 'er." Murphy said, nodding to her hands. She practically had a white knuckled grip on him. "So what r'we s'posed to do wit' 'er all day then?"

"I dunno. I wanna take 'er somewhere fun."

"Fun?" Murphy raised an eyebrow at him, standing and stretching tall. "Why'd y'wanna do that?"

"Cuz she looks like she needs t'do somethin' fun. Don'cha think?"

"She needs a decent meal." Murphy responded, shuffling off to the bathroom. "Y'can see all 'er ribs fer chrissake."

An hour later, despite the boy's best effort to be quiet, Eve woke with a yawn, letting go of Connor to sit and stretch, her arms going straight up above her head, and her legs going out across the floor.

"Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty." Connor said, standing to try and get the blood flow back to his limbs, which were aching from being held so still for so long. She nodded at him, obviously not totally awake yet, her eyes a little unfocused and her hair a big mess of tangles. "Y'wanna go do somethin' today? While Da's lookin' at a place fer ya?"

She blinked several times, looking a bit more aware each time, and then rose from the couch, scampering off to get her notepad. She brought it over to him, turned to a fresh page, and wrote out:

Can we go to the beach?

"The beach?" She nodded, still holding the notepad in front of her like a sign. "I dunno Evey, the beach is an awfully long way away, an' we don' 'ave a way t'get there." Connor said, shrugging a bit. If they had a car they could maybe make it there and back before it got dark, but as it was, they would have to take the bus or something, and that was dangerous for he and Murphy right now. Most forms of public transportation just weren't worth the risk and the aggravation. And he didn't think Eve would like such a crowded place.

She looked thoughtfully down at her paper, then back up at him, shrugging. Connor sighed, trying to think of what a girl her age would want to do. Shop? Talk on the phone? He hadn't a clue outside of what he knew based on movies, which, he was starting to learn, weren't always applicable in real-life situations.

"Le's go n'get breakfast first, how 'bout that?" Murphy interjected from across the room. "What d'ya wanna eat Kit?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment then wrote on her paper in big, capital letters:

PANCAKES.

Connor was glad there was a diner within walking distance of the motel where they'd been crashing, and that they served one hell of a breakfast. Eve's appetite appeared to have come back from wherever it had been the day before. She'd gone through two pancakes, some hash browns, and scrambled eggs before she even showed signs of slowing down, but it was good to see her legitimately eat. She could probably use a few extra pounds, as Murphy had so eloquently pointed out, and something with actual sustenance to it.

"Tha's better. I was worried y'weren't even gonna eat Kit," Murphy said, ruffling her hair. Not that it needed the help standing up. Connor wondered if they ought to get her a hairbrush before she ended up with dreadlocks, that could hardly be acceptable in a girl her age. She shrugged, and Connor thought that they probably should have brought her notepad with them so she could write them messages. Too late now. The boys sat back, drinking coffee while she became occupied with cutting her last pancake into a specific shape. It looked like she was trimming it into a giant heart, but he couldn't really be sure yet. "So what's aroun' 'ere tha's fun anyway?" Murphy asked randomly. "I mean, 'sides the pubs and stuff. I don' think takin' 'er to a pub's the best idea."

"I dunno," Connor shrugged. "I don' really know wha' she likes." He indicated Eve across the table, who was more or less ignoring them for her pancake art.

"Wha' d'ya wanna do 'sides go t'the beach?" Murphy asked her, apparently deciding the direct approach would be the best bet. She looked up at them blankly, and Connor really wished he had thought to bring her pen and paper. "Y'know, y'wanna like…go t' a movie r'somthin'?" She shrugged and pushed the pancake, now carved into a perfectly symmetrical heart, across the table to them, her cheeks flaring bright pink.

"Aw, tha's real nice Evey. Real nice." Connor commented, nudging Murphy so he'd notice the pancake art too. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to just compliment it or eat it though. Murphy didn't seem to care what he was supposed to do, he cut a chunk off and stuffed it in his mouth, after giving a half thought out comment. Connor rolled his eyes. And Murphy called him the dumb one. Oi. Eve gave them that half-way there smile she was beginning to perfect and sat quietly, looking at the two of them with her big doe-eyes, rocking back and forth a bit, waiting for one of them to do something. Or so he figured, maybe she just had to use the ladies room. "Le's find y'a park. I think tha's as close as ye'll be gettin' to the beach." Connor decided.

Eve nodded with an eager look in her eyes.

* * *

><p>She didn't wander too far from the brothers, even when they had finally gotten to the park. Especially Connor. She was happiest with one of them on either side, but she was practically glued to Connor's hip, staying right at his side. He ambled to the edge of a the sawdust pit in the center of some trees while Murphy took to somewhere farther from the children to have a smoke, a play structure erected in the middle, children running about cheerily, with watchful parents gossiping on the benches. Eve stood at the edge of the pavement as well, staring at the jungle-gym as if she'd never seen one before. A little boy, six or seven if Connor had to peg him with an age, walked over to them, carrying a paper airplane in one hand.<p>

"It won't fly," He said simply, holding it up to Connor. "Can you fix it?"

"I dunno. S'pose I can try," he answered, kneeling down and taking the plane from the boy's grasp, smiling a little to himself. Connor had always liked kids. Their simple, straightforward view of the world was something to be envied. Kids knew right and wrong better than half the adults out there, if only because their lives weren't complicated yet. "T'won't fly if you crumple i' up this way," Connor explained, straightening the paper back out as best he could. It was in pretty sad shape though, bent and crinkled as if were several days old.

"You talk kinda funny." The boy observed the fact bluntly. Connor laughed.

"It's jes' cuz I'm Irish."

"Aren't you supposed to have red hair then?"

"Nope. Tha's only the Leprechauns," Connor couldn't keep a straight face.

"Are you Irish too?" The boy looked up at Eve. She shook her head, watching in interest as Connor fiddled with the little paper plane. "Do you want to make one?" She seemed startled by the question, her eyes widening, blinking silently at the boy. "It's super easy. I'll show you how. My mom has got some paper we can use, I'll be right back." He sprang off, towards a woman cradling a Cosmo magazine in her hands. If Connor didn't know any better, he'd say the little boy was flirting with Eve.

* * *

><p>"Okay, now fold it like this," Jason, as the little boy had recently informed them his name was, instructed Eve patiently, the two of them sitting cross-legged on the pavement together, brightly colored paper scattered between them.<p>

"She gotten one righ' yet?" Murphy asked, returning from yet another cigarette break. Why he felt it was unacceptable to smoke around Eve, Connor couldn't figure.

"Hush up. She go' close on the las' one." Connor shushed him, moving over on the bench he'd take to occupying, making room for his twin.

"I can't b'lieve she's ne'er made a paper airplane though," Murphy said, scratching his hair absentmindedly. "I mean shite, every kid's made one o' those."

"I don' think she had much of a childhood Murph."

"Yeah…I s'pose yer right," Murphy agreed with a nod. "'Ow long y'think they 'ad 'er turnin' tricks?"

"Dunno. Don' really wanna think 'bout it."

"Prolly better tha' way," Murphy said, looking down on Eve, crouched amongst all the construction paper, with all the fondness of an older brother. "You decide wha' we're gonna do with her yet?"

"Depends on if Marianne is willin' t'take 'er. If she can, s'pose we'll work on gettin' 'er settled. If she can't…I guess we'll jus' 'ave to take 'er along fer awhile," Connor shrugged. He leaned foreword slightly, looking over Eve's shoulder as she got to the last stages of yet another attempt at the paper plane. She would get close every time she tried, but always seemed to fold the wings too much, accidentally crumple the paper trying to fix it, and then Jason would patiently show her how to do it from stage one again. Connor marveled at the young boys ability to do so, without getting frustrated. He even carried on a conversation with Eve, though most of the answers he made up for her, while she looked on in fascination at his energy.

"So how come you don't talk?" The boy asked, straightening Eve's fold for her. She answered him with a shrug. "My mom says you must just be really shy." Eve shrugged again. "Is he your dad?" He pointed at Connor. She shook her head violently, a strange reaction, Connor thought, even though it was pretty plain that she was a little old to be his, but Jason didn't catch it, focused on their planes, "Do you have a Mom?" Eve shook her head, and Jason looked confused. "You have to have a Mom. Everyone's got a Mom."

Eve just shook her head darkly, staring down at her finished plane, the first successful one so far. She held it out to Jason, as if looking for approval.

"Hey! You got it! That's awesome! Let's go try and fly them!" Practically dragging her, Jason headed for the play structure, and the two of them climbed to the top, Jason laughing proudly as the planes finally took flight the way he wanted, Eve watching them with wide eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile.

"This was a good idea," Connor told his brother, leaning back on the bench, feeling a bit like he imagined a proud father would. "I think she'll ge' better."

"Aye," Murphy answered, nodding wisely.

Connor remembered why he'd started on this journey, and why he'd never stop.


	2. Lamentations

**Lamentations**

_Author's note: Yep. So, we've discovered that Shelbie is a freaking liar. I said I wasn't going to continue this, but, I watched the movies again awhile ago, and next thing I knew, here I was, making chapter two. Amazingly. Well, water under the bridge, as the old adage goes, so, let's just move along. For lack of better wording, I feel like this is the runt chapter. I'm still not quite happy with how it turned out, but I'm not sure what it is that I don't like. I think it's the way I wrote Connor. He doesn't seem very...Connor-like. Too angsty, or something. Could also be Murphy and Il Duce's lack of involvement. It's a little too fixated on Connor perhaps. I don't know. _

* * *

><p>Evey had a God-given talent with animals, any critter within thirty blocks was running around her legs the second it spotted her. Connor figured it was good for her to communicate with animals, even if it was in simple baby-like coos, considering even now, two weeks later, she hadn't spoken a word to a human. She smiled now, and wasn't nearly as scared of physical contact with people outside of Connor, who she'd never seemed to have a problem with, but words still seemed beyond her abilities.<p>

Her newest best friend was an enormous grey cat that had been lurking around the hotel for several days. Connor had a hunch it had followed her after she decided to feed it, not that the creature looked like it really needed a meal, though when he asked, she only shook her head, and smiled widely as the cat rubbed against her legs and purred in a deep baritone. She set the groceries they had gone to pick up on the sidewalk, crouching down to stroke the bear-cat's impressive mane of fur.

"Y'keep this up Evey, an' we're gonna 'ave every stray in Boston showin' up on our doorstep beggin' fer food," He said, shrugging his case of beer over to his other hand. The lady at the counter had given him a god-awful look when he bought it in front of a minor, like he was the world's worst parent, though he supposed he really ought to get used to it, so long as Evey was still with them. Every time they went somewhere together people seemed to assume he was either an irresponsible single parent, or a cradle-robber/pedophile, neither of which was really a pleasant option. Not that he could really help it though, she followed him everywhere he went. At least, if she thought he would be gone for more than five minutes she did, it was if she were terrified he wouldn't come back if she lost sight of him for too long. That was what worried him the most about trying to leave her in Boston when they attempted to carry on to another city. She was attached to him. Very, very attached to him. It worried Connor that she might try to follow him then, or that she might end up accidentally tagging along on a night where they had found a new target. The last thing he wanted was to drag her into the cross-fire, or to give her a life where she had to be uprooted every time the cops got close to catching them. That wouldn't be any better than the way she had been living before, he wanted, if nothing else, a settled home for her.

Tonight would be the last night Evey was with the Saints. Things in Boston were getting too hot for them to stay, even this trip to the store to buy the semi-celebratory beer had been pretty risky on their part. Connor had tried to explain it to her last night, that she was going to stay with the daughter of one of Da's old friends, but Evey either hadn't understood, or had chosen to ignore the explanation. He would put his money on the second option.

"C'mon now Evey. We shouldn' be standin' out'ere much longer." He chided, glancing around the dimming streets. He didn't think anyone on this end of town would turn them in, but you could never be too careful. Boston had been crawling with cops since their first televised appearance, as it were, but they mostly stayed where Smecker told them to, and, fortuitously, Smecker had landed on their side of the line in the sand, so he was keeping most of the efforts directed in futile sweeps of Southie and Charlestown. That could only hold out for so long though.

Evey had to get separated and settled before someone noticed people who looked suspiciously like the police sketches shown daily on the news were being spotted here and there, buying beer or cigarettes, and always being accompanied by a sixteen-year old girl who could potentially be an accomplice. Eve in police custody was definitely worse than the thought of her tagging along.

She nodded to his suggestion that they move along, and patted the cat on the head, who mewled and followed after her as they continued to the room. She had definitely fed it before.

Ollmhór (according to Google Translate, that is Irish for 'Giant', I wouldn't swear to it though), as Connor had decided to call the bear-cat, stayed right on her heels as they crossed the parking lot and started up the stairs to their room. Glancing at the cars lined up, he spotted the old ford pick-up that he knew belonged to Marianne Donovan. The Donovan and MacManus families went back about as far as anyone on either side could remember. They'd always been thick as thieves, and always had sons and daughters who went gallivanting off into pubs, military service, rebellion, or just general trouble-making together, a few had even gone and gotten married, tying the families even closer together. In the case of Connor, Murphy, and Marianne's son Riley, they had all immigrated to the US at relatively the same time, despite Riley being a few years younger than the twins. Given, once they had gotten here, they went in different directions. Riley had gone the way of the Irish Mob up in New York, and had paid for it with a drug addiction, shortly followed by being found in the Hudson about four years ago, a bullet hole in his back. Marianne had left Ireland to grieve and claim the body, and had simply never gone back, in the hopes of a fresh start, seeing as she'd lost her husband just before Riley left for America. Connor supposed they were all hoping that Marianne could do the same for Evey as she had for herself.

Just as he reached for the doorknob, Connor felt a tug at his sleeve. He followed the skinny arm, her small hand pulling at the elbow of his coat, and met Eve's piteously large eyes. She looked at him with an intense expression of sadness.

"Evey? Wha's the matter?" He asked, struck by surprise at this. Not a moment ago, she had been perfectly happy, content to tail after him with groceries and her monster of a cat following her every step in the hopes of being fed. She opened her mouth, and a faint squeak-like noise escaped her. "Evey?"

She tried again, and this time, her small, soft voice, hoarse and dry-sounding from what was likely years of disuse, asked: "Do I have to go?"

"Jesus Chris- Evey, you're talkin'!" She slapped her free hand, the one not holding a plastic bag, over his mouth for his loud exclamation.

"Only to you," She shook her head violently.

Connor pried her hand off his jaw gingerly by her wrist, in the hopes of asking her questions that had been lurking in the back of his mind for awhile now.

"Why di'n't ye start talkin' sooner?" He asked, softening his voice as best he could for her benefit.

"I always got yelled at for making noise. I was scared," she said simply, "-but I only want to talk to you." Grabbing onto his hand around her wrist, Evey took off back down the stairs, and led him around to the back of the hotel. He could actually understand why she was acting the way she was, for a change. No doubt, after his shouting, Da, Murphy, and Marianne had all pressed their ears to the door, or possibly just opened it, wondering what the hell was happening, and as she had just said, she only wanted to talk to him right now. This was one of the many times where Connor cursed his tendency to be so excitable. "I didn't think I could talk anymore. It's been three years since the last time I tried," Eve continued, hunkering down to pick up Ollmhór, who had, for some odd reason, followed them all the way around. She cuddled the cat, who looked like he nearly outweighed her, and shrugged at him.

"Was tha' when…'e 'ad ya?" He asked, referring to the men he'd found her with, specifically, scar-face. He seemed to have been the one in charge of her.

"Allesio," She said, shaking her head. "No. He got me a year ago."

Connor's heart burned with anger, knowing that it couldn't have been any better for her then; once he realized he'd already put the motherfucker out of everyone else's misery though, it sank into a pit of sorrow for her sake. "How'd y'end up getting' mixed up wit' the likes o' 'im Evey?"

"I don't really remember. They put me here, I didn't really have a choice."

"They who?"

"The social worker people. My first parents, I guess they were my real ones, were really bad, so they decided to move me. I got moved a lot, nobody liked me I think. Well, some of my dads did. But the social workers told me it was bad."

"Were there ot'ers tha'…tha' were like Allesio?" Connor questioned. He couldn't bring himself to say the word rape, even though that was the only word for what had happened to her; calling it such, especially to her face, struck him as too harsh. It seemed like Eve wouldn't understand what the word even meant anyway, and he didn't even know why he was asking in the first place. It was exceedingly morbid curiosity he was feeding at the moment, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do once he knew. He couldn't very well hunt down every man who had hurt her, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

She nodded vaguely, as though trying to count them in her head. "There were a lot. Does that make me a whore?" She asked the question with an overtone of innocence.

"No, Evey, y'listen here," Connor said sharply, setting his hands on her shoulders, and hoping she realized his tone wasn't directed at her. It was directed at whoever had convinced her that she was a whore because she had been repeatedly raped by people she thought were supposed to take care of her. "Wha' they did to ye, wha' they all did, was wrong. They should all be fuckin' killed like Allesio n'tha' other fucker, whet'er I be the one t'do it r'not. Y'understand? Yer a good girl, y'jus' got a bad lot in life. But we're gonna fix tha' fer ya."

"Does that mean I can stay with you?" Her eyes widened, hopeful, begging even. God, this was going to fucking break his heart.

"No, Evey. Y'need someone who can take care o' ya. I can't do tha'. I'm no good at takin' care o' other people, I can hardly manage m'self n'm'brother."

"But I'd be really good. I wouldn't run away, and I'd be really quiet. You won't have to take care of me."

"Yer only sixteen Evey, tha's too young t'be takin' off an' endin' up on the "Most Wanted" list wit' us. Y'need to be in a good home, where y'can start over. Y'need to be in school, yer a smart girl, ye can put it to good use, an' 'fore you know it, you'll be caught up wit' the ot'er kids yer age . Y'can't be runnin' 'round with a coupla wanted men, now can ya? T'jus' ain't proper."

"But I-"

"Jus' listen t'me, a'right?" Connor stopped her before she could offer more of an argument. "Marianne's gonna be the one t'take care o' ye now, an' she'll do a good job. A be'er job than me or Murph', or even Da could do. None o' us know anythin' 'bout raisin' a girl, 'specially a teenage one. Ye'll be much better off wit' 'er."

"But I want to be with you." Her big brown eyes had turned into glassy marbles, she was shutting down. Eve thought he was trying to abandon her.

"Don' worry Evey. I'm not jus' gonna leave ye. We'll come back an' visit, whene'er we get a chance. Course, can't be too of'en. We don' wan' the police t'figger out you know us."

"Why? Aren't you the good guys?" Again, Evey asked it with complete and total innocence. It seemed no one had bothered to teach her that it generally wasn't acceptable to kill people, least of all with the methods he and his family employed. On the other hand, going around with a couple of wannabe gangsters like she had, Eve had probably seen more death than was healthy. Maybe she just wasn't sensitive to it anymore, and decided good and bad on her own, rather than what the law told her. If it wasn't either of those, she may have simply put him up on a pedestal because he was, in fact, the first person who had ever been nice to her.

"Aye. We're the good guys. Bu' some people r'a li'l slow in comin' 'round to our way o' thinking'.

"Is…is Marianne going to be nice to me?" Eve asked, her voice shrinking ever so slightly.

"She'll be real nice to ya. Y'trust m'judgement o' character, righ'?" Eve nodded attentively. "So don' worry abou' it. An' if anyone else e'er gives y'trouble, y'can always tell Marianne, an' she'll tell us, an' we'll shoot the bastard righ' in the fuckin' face, a'right?"

"But you're still going to go away," She stated, sounding forlorn.

"Aye, bu' Evey, s'not gonna be fer forever. We're still gonna be aroun', s'jus' we're gonna be movin' a lot, an' we're gonna be doin' a lot o' violen' things, tha' y'don' need t'see. I don' wan' y'turnin' out all messed up cuz I let y'come along when we're killin' t'rest o' the bad people."

"Okay," She finally agreed quietly, though she was looking at the ground. "I'll go with her." Connor nodded, trying to encourage her with a smile.

"S'okay if y'don' wan' t'talk t'Marianne a' first, jus' take yer time Evey. Ye'll be fine," Connor assured, taking his hands off her shoulders to pat her hair lightly, perhaps a bit awkwardly. He was painfully aware of how bad he, and most other men, were with sensitive things like this. Whether he'd actually managed to ease her mind, he couldn't say. "Now, wha' d'y'say we go an' meet 'er? Don' wanna send y'off wit' a total stranger af'er all."

She gave him a vague nod, and Connor turned to head for the stairs again, before stopping when she grasped the back of his coat suddenly. She really ought to figure out a new way to get his attention, as her preferred method seemed to be latching onto his person or his clothing. It didn't bug him exactly, but it might bother other people, and sooner or later, she was going to have to learn how to deal with those others. He turned to look at her, Ollmhór dangling precariously from the single arm she held him in, though it looked like the cat was mostly unbothered, hanging there and purring all the same.

"Connor?"

"Aye?"

"I…never mind. I'm just nervous I guess." She shrugged, pulling her arm back around the bear-cat, hoisting him up again.

"Yer gonna be fine. I promise."

* * *

><p>Marianne was an easy-going woman in her early forties, trim and healthy, with the classically portrayed Irish looks; more red hair than anyone could know what to do with, and youthful looking freckles scattered across her face and shoulders. She fondly told Evey that Riley's favorite thing to do as a kid was play "connect the freckles" and she was more than welcome to try it if she wanted. Eve had shyly shaken her head, but at the very least, had left the safety of Connor's shadow to smile at the older woman.<p>

Half an hour in to trying to get Eve used to Marianne, the twins and Da felt they were making progress. Evey was settled on the hotel's awful couch with Marianne, who was showing her some actual girl's clothes she had brought with her, as though somehow sensing she had been wearing the same outfit for two weeks. It was washed, of course, they weren't that bad about taking care of her, or at least, Da wasn't, but that didn't change the fact she had practically worn through the knees of the jeans already.

An hour in, Eve was smiling, wearing one of Marianne's old dresses which, miraculously, fit her exactly right, trying to decide whether she was going to listen to Murphy, who was offering her a beer, or listen to Marianne, who told her she was strictly not allowed to drink until she was at least eighteen. In the end, she took the beer and gave it to Connor, who allowed her to share it with him, even when Mari slapped him upside the head. He thought that since this was technically her going away party, he could spoil her a little. Da scolded him, but seemed to be thinking along Connor's line on that one, which Marianne was very indignant about, demanding whether Da really wanted Eve to turn out like the boys.

Two hours in, Eve was laughing, those big doe-eyes of hers bright and happy. It was a relief to see. They sat around the table, playing what they swore would be the last round of poker, the beer long gone, Evey looking a bit a sleepy.

Another half an hour in, she realized she had to go. Though her eyes looked suddenly lost and lonely, she smiled as she hugged Da first.

"Ye'll be fine wit' Marianne dear. Though, I don' wan' y'thinkin' t'is has t'be the las' time y'see us. Ye can ask Mari t'get in touch wit' us as of'en as ye like."

Murphy swung her up in a bear hug, her skinny legs flying. "Gonna miss ya, Kit," He grinned as he set her down, ruffling her hair up into a big old mess. "We'll prolly be in the news a bunch now, so yer gonna collec' all the articles, righ'?"

Eve nodded vigorously.

"Tha's a good lass then," He smirked, "S'always good t'know we got a secret admirer."

"S'not much o' a secret if y'tol' 'er t'do it." Connor pointed out.

"Fuck ye." Murphy flipped him off, Connor hiding a laugh. "There's one las' thing I gotta know Kit," She blinked at him and tilted her head, which he presumed to mean to ask. "Why the fuck d'ya like Connor more? We all 'eard ye talkin' to 'im, an' t'just ain't fair. I don' scare ya, do I?"

Eve started to shrug, and then paused. She thought for a long moment, and then visibly straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath.

"Because I didn't know if I could talk to anyone but him."

Murphy was agape at her sudden response, something he obviously hadn't been expecting after how long she had been stubbornly silent, but he recovered quickly, as he always did.

"Well damn Kit, seems all y'had t'do was try," He told her fondly. Eve nodded, happy with his encouragement.

Connor's hug was last, and the longest. Murphy chirped about it, but was shushed by a look from Da. Her hands caught fistfuls of the back of his shirt, Evey buried her face in his chest, and he caught the faintest of sniffles.

"Aw, Evey, c'mon now. There's no need fer any tears." He pet her hair gingerly. "S'all gonna be fine. Once y'get settled, you'll be 'appy as a li'l clam, r'so the sayin' goes."

"Will you come see me tomorrow?" She muffled into his shirt.

"Aye. We'll come see y'tomorrow, make sure yer settled in and what have ye."

"Okay." There were a few seconds of silence, then she mumbled something else. Something he didn't quite catch, and somehow, he felt he was meant to.

"Evey?"

"Nothing," She said, abruptly letting go of him and stepping away. "It was nothing. I'm ready," She added to Marianne.

"Alright. Let's head ou' t'en, s'already awf'lly late," The red-head nodded. Evey turned and gave the Saints another smile, following her new caretaker step for step, the same way she had Connor the first day. Marianne opened the door, and an enormous grey ball of fur all but strutted in, meowing as if demanding to know why it had been left outside. "T'hell is t'is?" Marianne asked, pointing as the cat brazenly stalked past her, twining it's body around Eve's legs.

"Tha's Evey's new pet. Seem's t'ave taken quite a likin' to 'er. I been callin' 'im Ollmhór," Connor shrugged.

"S'well y'shoul'. S'a fuckin' monster," Murphy observed, eyeing Ollmhór as though not really believing it was actually a cat.

"Y'keep this up boy, an' yer liable to bring 'ome anyt'in' wit' big brown eyes," Da said, his smile hiding in his beard.

"I di'n't really wan' tha' one. I think Evey decided t'feed 'im, an' s'been followin' 'er around ever since."

"Yeah, cuz tha' thing really looks like t'needed t'be fed." Murphy shook his head with a vague laugh.

"Well I ain't taking t'home wit' me," Marianne declared. In response, Eve scooped up Ollmhór, hugging the purring beast close to her chest, and looked forlornly at Marianne, who almost instantly broke under those terribly sad eyes. "I sai' no," She quickly amended, trying to look tough, her arms crossed. It was enough to make Connor laugh; he knew the second no one was looking, Marianne would give in, and take Ollmhór home with her. She was a sucker for puppy-dog eyes, and Evey had those down like nothing else.

"Aw, Mari, let 'er 'ave t'fuckin' cat. Migh' be good fer 'er t'ave somethin' to look after," Connor persuaded. If anything, he hoped Ollmhór would keep her from getting lonely.

She looked first at Evey, then the boys, and finally to Da, who just shrugged, officially declaring himself neutral. Marianne puffed out her lips in pretend agitation, then threw her hands up, rolling her eyes to heaven, signaling defeat.

"Fine. T'fuckin' hairball can come wit' us. But yer t'one tha' 'as t'take care of it and clean up af'er it. An' if't s'much as looks t'wrong way't me furniture, so help me, I'll skin't and make a rug, y'understand Eve?"

In response, the girl nodded first excitedly, and then when Marianne's threat registered, very solemnly.

* * *

><p>Two months later, when Marianne announced he was there to see her, Connor could scarcely believe the grinning sixteen-year old running at him for a hug was the same quiet little kitten he'd found in dire straits. In clean, girly jeans and what he could only assume was a hand-knit sweater, with her hair pulled up in a stubby ponytail, she didn't even look like the same girl she had been, other than the big expressive doe-eyes. He was sort of hoping those would never change though.<p>

"Connor!" She latched onto him like a koala, while Marianne laughed good-naturedly at her antics.

"Yer the only thin' she e'er ge's tha' excited 'bout, Conn'. If only she coul' be so 'appy t'study."

"Well, t'at's the problem, i'n't? S'fuckin' studyin'. Who ever 'eard o' a kid wantin' t'study?" Connor shrugged, laughing and messing Evey's hair out of her ponytail. She didn't argue though, just let him go to smile at him.

"No Murphy?" She asked, looking over Connor's shoulder as if expecting to find him hiding behind his back.

"Nah. He go' 'it in the 'ead by some Neo-Nazi fuck, an' Da though' he may 'ave gotten 'iself a concussion, so 'e's stuck at t'motel."

"Did you shoot the motherfucker?"

"Eve," Marianne scolded, as though thinking it would do any good. Considering who Evey had as role models, Connor was betting she'd turn out the most foulmouthed of the lot of them. Wasn't as if Marianne had any room to talk anyway. "Young ladies don' talk like tha'."

"But he hit Murphy!"

"I don' care, y'don' need to be talkin' tha' way 'fore yer even old 'nough t'smoke legally in t'is country. Though a damn stupid rule it may be."

"She thinks I don't know what 'fuck' means." Eve informed Connor with a shrug. Marianne rolled her eyes in a childish fashion.

"I'm gonna go make us some tea t'en. Eve, why don' ye see if Conn' can 'elp y'wit' the homework y'were stuck on?"

"You speak Spanish?" She looked at him curiously.

"'E's fluent." Marianne tossed over her shoulder. Eve stared at him as if amazed, and feeling awkward under all the attention, Connor scratched his ear in an embarrassed fashion.

"Ma figgered it'd come in handy t'know shite like that. Me'n Murph' both speak 'bout six languages. Started learnin' Chinese, ne'er finished it tho'."

"I barely understand Spanish," Eve said, with the tiniest hint of a pout.

"Go on an' find't lass," Marianne instructed mildly, prodding her in the direction of the stairs. Eve trotted off, saying it would be 'just a minute', leaving Connor and Marianne in the foyer, with her partway to the kitchen. "Well, take yer shoes off Conn', no sense in standin' in t'doorway all day, migh' as well stay fer food."

"S'pose not," He nodded with a chuckle. It was a fairly well known fact Connor wasn't one to pass up free eats. And Marianne absolutely would have choked him if he said he didn't want any of her cooking, but that was beside the point. "How's she been t'en?" He asked, nodding toward the stairs as he kicked off his boots.

"She 'asn't been sleepin'," Marianne answered, crossing her thin arms lightly, staring after the girl with a peculiar expression that was a mix of concern and confusion.

"Nightmares?"

"I dunno. She don' tell me. Bu' she's always up 'til t'wee hours o' the mornin', I wen' by 'er room a' five in the mornin' t'day and she was still up, readin'."

"Probly jus' a phase r'somthin'," Connor offered with a shrug. If it wasn't that, he'd definitely put his money on more nightmares. She hadn't said anything about them, but that didn't mean they didn't make her afraid to sleep. She had seemed alright just now, though she had looked a bit tired. And after all, there were people who slept only a few hours a day, like Da, who functioned just fine in daily life. He couldn't say he wasn't a little bothered by the fact though.

"Will ye talk t'er abou' it though?" Marianne questioned, "She listens be'er t'ye."

"I'll ask 'er," He nodded, though he couldn't say he really wanted to.

"Also…d'ya s'pose y'coul' ask 'er 'bout boys? Y'know, like, datin'?"

"The fuck I need t'ask 'er abou' datin' fer? Yer t'woman 'ere, yer s'posed t'be t'one tha' un'erstan's teenage girls." Connor sounded a little more indignant, even to his own ears, than he should have. Exactly what the fuck was he supposed to know about female hormones though? He was the last person he could think of to even consider giving Eve a talk about the birds and the bees. On the other hand, he was oddly uncomfortable with the idea of Eve dating. It just seemed…like the opposite of what would be good for her. "Why d'I need t'ask 'er 'bout it?" He repeated.

"Cuz…Well fuck Conn', I dunno wha' she's been t'rough. I don' wan'er t't'ink I'm jus' bein' unfair in tellin' 'er not t'date, bu' I don' wan' t'bring thin's up when I don' un'erstan' wha' 'appened t'er."

"Is she datin' a'ready?" Connor asked, eyeing the stairs, expecting Eve to stumble back into the midst of this conversation and be highly offended or hurt.

"I don' know fer sure," Marianne confessed, crossing her arms more securely. "Bu' she said something' 'bout meetin' someone, a man," here, Marianne leaned towards him, indicating that the last tidbit had been the part she was concerned about, "-i' worries me Conn', 'e don' soun' like a school friend, I t'ink 'e may be…ol'er. An' I don' t'ink she'd know a good man from a bad one, 'less someone were t'tell 'er."

"An' y'think it oughta be me, from t'sound o' thin's."

"Aye. She's got not'in' but regard fer ye an' Murph' an' Noah. She'll listen t'whate'er y'tell 'er t'do. Jus'…ask 'er t'stay 'way from ol'er men, woul' ya? Lord knows she's 'ad more n'nough sufferin' at t'ands o' pedophilic fuck-ups. I jus' don' wan' 'er thinkin' tha' i's okay fer thirty-somthin' men t'be flirtin' wit' 'er."

"A'righ'. I'll try n'talk t'er," Connor agreed, though a bit grudgingly. He didn't exactly want to go and drag up all Evey's old ghost's as examples either, so he was hoping just a quick explanation of anyone significantly older than her trying to chat her up was generally a bad sign, would suffice for a talking-to.

"Good lad. G'on then," Marianne said, pointing at the stairs, as if wondering why he was still standing awkwardly in the front hallway.

"I'm goin'. Don' go gettin' yer panties in a knot, Mari." That being said, Connor fled before she had the chance to hit him. Lord knew, nobody brought up Marianne's panties without significant backlash.

Within her bedroom, Eve was digging through a leaning stack of books, the top-most ones looking about to topple. The entire desk in the corner was stacked high with books, everything from algebra to history to Spanish to American classics.

"Y'check ou' t'whole library there Evey?" He asked from the doorway. She jumped, dropping the book in her hands, onto her toe, the rest of the stack tumbling to the carpet in several muffled thuds. "Sorry. Y'okay?"

She nodded, but winced and crouched down to rub her foot, before starting the gathering process of the scattered books. "I didn't even hear you."

"Sorry," Connor said again, stepping into her room, Ollmhór greeting him from the center of Eve's mattress with something somewhere between a meow and a growl. The thing really was more of a bear than a cat. He joined Eve in picking up the stray books, absently reading titles. "Wha' class 'as y'readin' Romeo and Juliet?"

"None of them," Eve shrugged, re-stacking the books in an order he didn't understand, but seemed very important to her. "I'm really behind the other kids in school, and reading's all I know how to do. So I've just been reading everything to try and get caught up."

"When was t'las' time y'were in school?"

"I think the last time I went…I was twelve or thirteen. I don't remember. I was behind then too."

"S'not yer fault." She nodded, but wasn't looking at him, barely paying attention it seemed. "Y'makin' any frien's?"

"A couple I guess…I'm really bad at talking to people still."

"Ye'll ge' better a'it." She nodded, but again, seemed to not be paying much attention. Connor decided there was no point in beating around the bush anymore, and went for the direct route. "Y'meet any boys?"

Evey went still. She glanced at him, her lip between her teeth. "Marianne?"

"Aye. Bu' yer not in trouble Evey, she jus' tol' me she was worried 'bout y'meetin' someone she though' was ol'er, izzat true?"

"I didn't meet him exactly. Not the way she thinks anyway. He brought me a bagel, at school, and told me that I couldn't ever tell anyone anything I knew about you guys. He just wanted to make sure I would keep it a secret. He had a badge, so I thought it was okay."

"Smecker," Connor said, in a sigh of relief. "Y'met Smecker."

"So it was okay to talk to him? I didn't say anything important. I actually lied, and told him I thought you went to Las Vegas, just in case."

"Y'did good Evey," He nodded when she looked at him with an expression seeking approval. "'E knows 'e can trus' ye now, s'don' worry 'bout it."

"Okay." She went back to organizing her book stack, a small smile on her face. With the last of them in the pile, she moved it back to the desk where it had been originally, and Connor caught a flash of gold on her hand.

"Wha's tha' then? Y'gettin' married Evey?" He questioned curiously, smiling a bit, thinking himself rather funny. She on the other hand, seemed to take it quite seriously.

"No," She blushed bright red, hiding the hand away in the fingers of her right anyway, "-Marianne said it was supposed to be a purity ring."

"Le's see't then," Connor persisted, unable to tell himself that seeing her so embarrassed was not endearing. She flushed brighter, which he hadn't thought to be possible, and held her left hand out to him. The ring was a good-quality gold one, an emerald sat in the center, cut into a delicate little heart, framed by two tiny diamonds, hands held the jewels, and a crown sat atop the emerald. "A claddagh huh? Marianne'll turn y'Irish ye' Evey." He smiled at her.

"What's it mean?" Her eyes clouded in confusion.

"The claddagh?"

"Yeah."

"A claddagh ring is given t'people ye love. The differen' shapes stan' fer diffren' t'ings. T'heart means love, t'crown is loyalty, an' the 'ands r'frien'ship. T'was Marianne's weddin' ring, when she married Riley's Da," He explained, "-ye can give it t'someone t'tell 'em y'care abou' 'em, though s'usually fer when yer gettin' engaged. When yer in love wit' someone, the heart's s'posed t'be pointin' in, towards yer own heart. S'a very clever li'l thin'."

Eve glanced down at her hand again, looking embarrassed. He wondered why, but noticed then that it the heart was pointing inwards, though he chose to say nothing. He figured she'd turn it around later.

"I didn't know all that," Evey said after a moment of semi-awkward silence, sounding rather amazed at all the different meanings, "She only said I could wear it, even though I'm not a virgin, because until it's my choice, I'm still innocent. You think that's true?"

"Aye. Y'ave a righ' t'make yer own choices s'much as everyone else does. T'isn't fair tha' y'never go' a say in't 'fore now. But from now on, everythin's yer own decision Evey."

"What if I can't make right ones?" She asked, suddenly sounding fearful.

"Ye'll be fine. Yer a smart girl Evey. 'Sides, y'got us an' Marianne, jus' in case y'don' know, y'ave someone t'ask. I'm always gonna be 'round if y'think ye need a second opinion."

"You promise?"

"Aye. Course I promise."

Even as the words left his mouth, Connor knew he was lying through his damn teeth, and hating every second of it.

"Now, 'bout tha' homework y'needed help on-"

"Tea's up kids!" Marianne yelled from the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Between the tea, the dinner, explaining Spanish conjugation to Eve, and the long nostalgic talks he and Marianne had, it was well after ten when Connor finally realized he ought to be heading his own way. He supposed it was alright anyway, as Evey had spent the last half an hour drifting off to sleep on his shoulder, huddled up against him on the couch like not a day had gone by.<p>

At Marianne's behest, and Eve's iron-strong cling to his shirt, Connor walked her upstairs, sitting on her bed awkwardly whilst she brushed her teeth or what-not in the bathroom down the hall. Ollmhór watched him unnervingly, curled up near her pillow like he was the fucking king of everything.

"D'ya do anythin' useful, or d'ya jus' fuckin' sleep all day?" He asked, to which the animal responded by rolling over, clearly expecting to have his belly rubbed.

"He catches cockroaches." Eve said from the doorway, all wrapped up in childish flannel P.J.s. He couldn't blame her though. It was damn cold this time of year.

"Y'got cockroaches?"

"Uh-huh. Marianne says the people next door brought a bunch of them in their furniture, and now they're getting in our house. Ollmhór's caught three today. Of course, he also leaves them on my bed. I think he's trying to impress me." Eve explained, crawling under the covers, maneuvering to fit between him and the cat.

"An' 'e should. The cat knows who's feedin' 'im."

"He could always catch mice. Isn't that what he's supposed to do?"

"Accordin't "Tom 'n' Jerry" anyway," Connor nodded, smiling in a sad sort of way at the childish question. There was so much catching up she had to do, besides what was in school. No one had talked to Evey about much of anything, unless it was in gruff Italian, which might as well have been fucking Martian as far as she understood it. Simple facts of life were often beyond her grasp, and only essentially because no one had ever taught her anything, aside from what to do to appease the sick fantasies of middle-aged Mafia fucks. What she knew, she'd learned from quick glimpses of TV, snippets of books or magazines she'd been allowed to read, or maybe if she was lucky, from the off days where she had actually gone to school as she should have been. She was physically jaded, but psychologically naïve. Evey had spent so much time blocking out what was going on around her, that she had ended up more or less stuck at a mental age much younger than what she really was. He was starting to see exactly how much time she'd spent hiding in a dark mental corner, whenever something like this came up. All because of motherfuckers like Allesio.

Connor wished he hadn't shot the bastard in the head. He should have hit him in the gut and let him bleed out instead. Best the fucker deserved.

"How long are you going to be here?" She asked, staring at him imploringly.

"Prob'ly no' long. Murph' n'me have got some stuff t'do. Assumin' he's feelin' up t'it, o' course," He added quickly.

"Can I stay awake until you leave?"

"S'late Evey. Y'got school t'morrow." Connor shook his head.

"But I don't want to go to sleep."

"Yer havin' nightmares, huh?"

Evey shrugged, knotting her blankets up in her fingers. "I guess. They're not so bad, it's just…they seem really real. I wake up crying sometimes because I don't remember where I am. Sometimes I feel like this is the part that's the dream."

"They'll stop soon," He promised, though, in all honesty, he had no idea if they would.

"They went away when I stayed with you," She said quietly.

"Bu' y'know I can' always be here, righ'?"

"I guess." Ollmhór took her pouty-face to mean she wanted to pet him, purring and cuddling up to her side. Evey wrapped her arm around the cat, scratching behind his ears, then looked at Connor again. "Connor, how come not everyone one else thinks you're the good guys?"

He wasn't sure if that was an honest question, or a really good stall tactic to get him to stay and talk more. He knew Evey would only keep asking if he didn't answer though, so he figured he'd get it out of the way.

"Cuz mos' people don' think i's okay t'kill people, no matter 'ow fuckin' bad they are. They think they oughta be fair in punishin' 'em."

"Like in "Law and Order"?"

"Aye."

"But they get away sometimes."

"Tha's the part we're tyin' t'fix."

She nodded, mulling all this over for a long moment. He could see it in her eyes when she came to some form of a conclusion. "I'm glad you killed Allesio," She informed him matter-of-factly. "Did you know I wasn't his only girl?" Connor shook his head, disgusted with the thought, but he had figured as much. It was never enough to ruin one girl's life, there always seemed to be more. "He was going to keep the others. But you killed him, so now they're safe too. The people in "Law and Order" wouldn't have even been able to find him."

Connor didn't know what to say. He didn't want to tell her "Law and Order" wasn't real. He didn't want to tell her that another pimp had probably gone to get the other girls the second they heard Allesio was dead. And he didn't want to tell her that it had been sheer dumb-fucking-luck he had stumbled onto her in the situation he had. Divine intervention? Maybe. But he hadn't gone into that bar looking to save a life. He hadn't gone into that bar with the intentions of anything other than drinking himself partially-comatose. It was all stupid luck. Russian Roulette on a grand scale. She could have just as easily been ignored, raped, and tortured for what could only have been the umpteenth time in her life.

It was all about the fucking chances, and yet she still thought he was some kind of Angel, come to save her. But then, in the long run, even though it made him feel like he was taking advantage of her naïve, sweet trust, he supposed he could let her believe it. What was the harm? Sooner or later Evey would grow up, she'd grow out of it. She'd still remember, he hoped, but it wouldn't be an Angel. It would just be him. Just a person.

"Tell y'wha' Evey, I'll make ya a deal. I'll stay till y'fall asleep, a'right? Tha' way y'won' know when I leave. If y'think I'm 'ere, they'll stay away all t'same, righ'?"

"Will they?"

"Only one way t'find ou'."

She nodded in agreement, though looked suspicious of his logic. But she lay still anyway, her bear-cat electric blanket curled up at her side, eyes on the ceiling.

"When are you going to come visit again?"

"I dunno. Migh' be awhile though. Thin's are gettin' busy." Again, the lie felt like it practically burned his tongue. That was partially true though. He didn't know when he'd be able to visit again. He didn't know if he could.

It took all of fifteen minutes for the sleepless nights to collectively knock Evey out. He tucked her in absently, pulling the blankets gingerly out of her hands, spreading them more securely over her. She still wore the ring with the heart pointing in. He wondered if she had simply forgotten about it, or if she had developed a little crush. He was dying to know who it was, but that would have to wait until later.

How much later was anybody's guess though.

* * *

><p>On the docks, Murphy was giving him the eyes that said he had some explaining to do. As far as Connor went, he didn't see the point in trying to be on time to catch a boat when you were going to be illegally immigrating as a stowaway in the first place.<p>

Fact of the matter was, Murphy hadn't a damn thing wrong with his head, other than the usual of course. He'd just been too chickenshit to go see Evey and tell her that they were leaving. Maybe for forever. Connor supposed that he didn't exactly have bragging rights though. He hadn't told her either. In fact, he'd spent the whole damn time lying about it.

She was going to wake up hating him tomorrow, and he knew it.

"Y'were s'posed t'be here a' ten," Murphy observed, his tone nonchalant, with his face reading anything but.

"Aye."

"I's fuckin' midnight Conn'." Murphy's voice was strained with agitation. "I know y'go' a sof' spot fer Kit an' all, bu' we coulda been fuckin' caught waitin' fer yer ass."

"Sorry." Connor could only shrug, looking off into the endless sea they would soon be endeavoring to cross, vaguely wondered where Da had got to.

"What'd y'tell 'er?" Murphy asked, undoubtedly picking up on Connor's less-than-chipper attitude. He kind of felt like and asshole, in all honesty.

"I couldn' tell 'er fuckin' anythin'."

"Whaddya mean by tha'?"

"I mean I fuckin' lied Murph'. I didn' tell 'er we were leavin'. I couln'. Woulda broken 'er heart."

"Jesus Conn'," Was all Murphy said for several seconds, looking agitated and shaking his head. Then he abruptly reached out and shoved Connor's shoulder. "T'fuck were y'thinkin'? Y'know she's gonna be even more upse' soon as she realizes we're fuckin' gone!"

"I know. I know tha'," Connor mumbled. "I wish I 'ad tol' 'er the truth. 'Sides, why're y'lecturin' me? Ya couldn' even go. I tol' 'er some bullshit story 'bout you gettin' hit in the 'ead."

"I woulda gone if I'd known y'weren' gonna fuckin' tell 'er!"

"Oh, righ' cuz you fuckin' woulda tol' her, ye fuckin' chickenshite," Connor more or less snarled the statement at him. Murphy shoved him again, only this time, Connor decided he wasn't going to take it, and pushed him back. A few seconds later, it all broke down, the twins tussling the same as they always did, like a couple of two-year olds. This was about the time Da decided to come back from wherever he had been.

"Wha' t'e fuck are ye two li'l basterds fightin' 'bout now?" He was pulling them away from each other by the back of their coat collars. An effective method, one he no doubt would have used if he had been there for their childhood. Of course, they probably wouldn't have fought as much if Da had been around to administer punishments. Ma had never had the strength to pull them apart, especially as they got taller, and she hadn't much believed that spanking was the way to teach them anything, other than to run faster when they thought they'd be in trouble. So for the most part, they had just been allowed to punch, kick, and wrestle each other until one or both of them was just two damn tired to fight anymore. It was sort of weird, all of a sudden having your fights physically broken up by your father when you were twenty-seven years old.

"Connor's a fuckin' retard," Murphy declared.

"What'd y'do?" Da turned to him.

"Nothin', he jus'-"

"He di'n't tell Kit we're leavin'."

Connor made a face, wondering when Murphy had turned into such a fucking tattle-tale, while Da gave him a questioning look with an eyebrow raised.

"Y'di'n't tell 'er?"

"No," Connor admitted, "-she's havin' a hard 'nough time, I di'n't wanna tell 'er somethin' like tha'."

"Well," Da said, releasing his hold on the boys, giving Connor a pat on the shoulder, "S'yer choice when't comes t'li'l Evey."

"I'm no' 'er paren'."

"Aye. Bu' s'still yer choice. Y'can only do wha' y'think is righ' son."

The only problem was, Connor didn't know whether he'd made the right decision. And poor Evey might never understand. She'd looked at him with those big hopeful eyes, and absolutely believed him when he's said he would come visit again. He could already picture her looking forward to seeing him every single day, and every day, feeling like he'd fucking abandoned her. It hadn't seemed this way at first. He'd really believed that not telling her was the better way, that the little bursts of hope would only last until she adjusted to her new life, had friends and other things to look forward too. Now, he just wasn't sure of anything.

Murphy and Da called him from the dock, their ship was leaving. Even if he'd wanted to run back, to tell her the truth, he hadn't the time anymore. For a long moment, Connor was torn. Unable to make his feet move in either direction. He glanced up at the sky, wanting for a sign to indicate he was doing the right thing. Part of him wanted to stay for her, but a much louder part of him reminded Connor that if he didn't go, she might have to watch them pick up his body parts on the telly someday. She might have to watch them stick a needle in his arm. She might face the same threats, if they ever connected them, and decided she was an accomplice. This part won him over. He couldn't save her, and then turn around and not be responsible for her safety.

Barely visible against the night sky, three crows crossed his line of vision, flying out towards the ocean.

"An' the three shall spread their blackened wings…" Connor mumbled to himself. "S'pose that oughta be me sign then. Jus' don' go fergettin' our dove."

God gave him no answers to that.


	3. Revelations

**Revelations**

_Author's note, as per usual: So, here it is. The trilogy is complete. Yay! In this one, you can really, really see the "Sin City" influence. I tried to do it my own way though, so we'll see. I'm not totally happy with the ending, but it's better than the first, which was quite sad. I don't like sad endings. And I had to cut it sometime, or I was just going to go on for ages. Look for the continuation in later stories. :)_

* * *

><p>The house was empty. The thought slugged Connor in the face like goddamn Rocky Balboa. Marianne's house, Evey's house, was empty. The paint had peeled away in most places, the rotten wood showing through, all the windows were broken, only a couple boarded up, the door sealed with yellow caution tape. Sure it had been awhile, nearly nine years to be precise, but this…this wasn't what Connor had been expecting when he wandered the familiar streets, now older, with even more graffiti than he had remembered, looking to find Evey; knowing he owed her an explanation. Several of them probably, for the sudden disappearing act the Saints had been forced to pull.<p>

"The fuck 'appened 'ere?" Murphy wondered aloud from somewhere behind him, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "Shit, where d'ya think she wen'? Conn'?" Murphy leaned forward, eyeballing him when his twin didn't respond. He was busy staring agape at the decrepit house.

"You looking for someone?" Came a warbling voice from somewhere behind the boys. They turned in unison, meeting grey eyes sunken into a withered face, the old man's weathered hands clutching on a knobby, but well polished, old cane. He peered at them closely, his eyes clearly sharp as they were in his youth.

"Aye. D'ya know what 'appened to the lasses livin' 'ere, 'bout nine years ago?" Connor asked, seeing no reason not to trust him.

"The Donovan woman? Spitfire she was," The elder man nodded his head sagely, as though thinking back fondly. "Reddest hair I ever did see. And her beautiful little daughter that came to live with her, coming over from Ireland to join her mama when she had the money, she said. Quietest little thing, but damn pretty. Polite too, said good morning to me everyday." He nodded again at Eve's apparent respectability.

"Aye, those r't'ones," Connor tried to keep the elation out of his voice. He just had to see her, make sure she was okay, then he could rest easy about leaving her the way they had. "D'ya know where t'ey are?"

"Now, it must have been around 2001," The old man carried on, as if not hearing a word Connor had said. Murphy looked at him and rolled his eyes, clearly thinking the old coot wasn't legitimate, but Connor was willing to wait, for a few more seconds anyway. "Yes, it must have been the 2001 summer that she died-"

"Died? Who t'fuck died?" Connor and Murphy demanded together.

"Marianne." The old man seemed startled by their sudden unanimous outburst. The relief in the boys lasted for only a moment before the sorrow kicked in, quickly followed by more fervent worry. "Such a pity too, leaving that girl all on her lonesome. Poor Eve didn't know what to do-"

"Wha' happened t'er? Where'd she go?" Connor practically demanded of the old man.

"I…I don't know." His white eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Seems…a man came by to see her not long after Marianne passed away. Very professional looking fellow, didn't give a name, but I suppose he must have been a relative, next day she was gone, I assume with him."

"Jesus…she was jus' fuckin' gone?" Connor trailed off absently, running the worst case scenario through his head. A pimp, that had to have been a pimp coming back for her. As hard as they may have tried to keep her out of that life, it probably had never been too far behind her. If only the old guy had been able to give them more details…

"Well, she did come back about a week later, saying she'd forgotten something. She said she got herself a job at a restaurant or something…I think it was called Satin…something? Or maybe Silk? I can't say I remember, it's over in Beacon Hill though, so something fancy either way. A step up for her, for sure."

Connor wasn't so sure. In his experience, something with a name like "Satin" didn't usually have a kiddies menu.

* * *

><p>As it was, the place was not a restaurant, as Connor had figured, the loud bass beat of music blaring within tipped him off to that. It wasn't called Satin anything either. However, the old man hadn't been totally off, "Silk Inc." was bolted above the door in curvy pink neon. So maybe Evey really would be here. He couldn't judge what the place really was from it's exterior though. It looked like any other building on the block, big, grey and concrete, with no windows, probably intended to be a factory of some sort when the row of buildings had been constructed. Only this one had a touch of decorating from an old-fashioned Jazz club, red velvet ropes leading up to the door and everything, but that still made it of very little obvious interest; Connor didn't even get bad vibes from it. The neighborhood around this area was full of the rich and semi-famous, all lively for the weekend evening, but this particular street was empty of the limousines and other expensive cars. There were only two parked before the building, a Lexus and an oversized Mercedes SUV of some sort. There wasn't even a bouncer, nothing besides a single security camera perched under the neon, which they were carefully aware of, staying out of its range.<p>

"You thinkin' wha' I'm thinkin'?" Murphy asked, picking at the paint of the wall near him, it had once been a mural of some sort, ghostly, people-like shapes buried under grimy pollution. The years had not been kind to it.

"I dunno. Depends on wha' yer thinkin'." Connor said absently. Of course, he already knew what Murphy was insinuating. He just didn't want to admit it.

"I'm thinkin' Kit may need some rescuin' again." Murphy looked up the wall of the building with his head cocked to one side. "Go in n'look fer 'er. I'll go 'round, n'find a back door."

"Since when d'you make t'plans?"

"Shuddup Conn'. This i'n't the time t'be cookin' up one o' yer fuckin' plans. We oughta do this quiet like, not draw the attention o' every cop in Boston. D'ya really wanna starta brawl when we been out o' Hoag barely a week?"

"Well no, bu-"

"Bu' nothin'. I know Kit, she'll be runnin' t'ya the second she sees ya. We can fuckin' sneak 'er out the back door n'no one's the wiser. 'Sides t'ain't like we gotta buncha bullets t'be wastin'," Murphy pointed out, clearly having thought this out very thoroughly. Truth be told, the thought that they hadn't invested in new guns, the others locked deep away in an evidence locker somewhere, hadn't even crossed Connor's mind. "We'll come back an' kill the motherfuckers la'er. But now, le's jus' get Kit."

"Okay. S'a good plan Murph'."

His twin regarded him with something oddly similar to suspicion at his agreement, probably since Connor hadn't put up a fight about doing it his way, but nodded a moment later.

"Get yer ass movin' then."

They both knew that guns or no, they couldn't leaver her hanging a second time.

Connor entered the foreboding red door, walking as casually as he could manage, while still trying to be as aware of his surroundings as possible. He stalked under the camera with his collar pulled up, and his chin tucked down into his coat, hoping it would suffice as incognito, as he didn't have much else to work with.

The heavy smoke and pleasantly warm air engulfed him in a matter of seconds, a hulking man in a grey suit eyed him momentarily, then nodded him forward, through a skinny horizontal hallway and into the main room of the building, strung up with as many pink lights as was possible. It gave the room an overly-warm sort of feel, or perhaps, an overzealous Valentine's day feel. Either way, it was a lot of pink. The furniture was all black and lacquered to a ridiculously high-shine, seating patrons dressed like this was some sort high-end celebrity soirée. He counted about thirty heads total, but doubted any of them would pose a threat if it came down to a fight, they were the kind of prissy boys that would choke on anything stronger than Sprite. The walls were dark mahogany, dotted with pink and red spotlights, large pieces of silky fabric hanging about, as though inviting one to have fun just out of sight of the other patrons, a wide, table-like structure wrapping all the way around, like a sort of endless bar counter, though the actual bar was only on one side of the room, meeting in a catwalk that stretched out into the room opposite the drink.

Oh yeah. Connor had a feeling he knew exactly what kind of place this was. He prayed to high Heaven that Evey was only a waitress.

He wandered to the bar, painfully aware that he stuck out like a sore thumb on a bad day, and settled down on one of the black stools. The barkeep looked at him, the same way the bouncer had, through platinum blonde locks perfectly styled, before she seemed to decide he was alright, and approached him causally. Ma had always told him he had a cute face, and he was saying a bit of thanks for it now.

"What can I get you?" She asked, leaning heavily on the counter. Connor got the strangest feeling he was meant to look down her shirt, but he took the high road and kept his eyes on the room, scanning for any familiar brunettes. Blondes, especially bleached ones, had never been his type anyway.

"Y'go' any halfway decen' beer?"

"You've never been here before have you?" She asked mildly, smiling at him through pretty eyelashes.

"Can't say tha' I 'ave. I'm jus' lookin' fer someone."

"That's what everyone does when they come here alone." The bartender smiled wider, making obvious calf-eyes at him. It was making him a tad uncomfortable honestly.

"S'a girl I know. Goes by Evey. Know'er?"

The blonde made a show of looking thoughtful. "Eve…Yeah. I think she'll be along shortly. Though, no one here calls her "Evey"." Connor raised an eyebrow, to which her smile turned more to a smirk. "You'll see."

Before Connor could ask her just what the hell she meant, the music that had been thumping through the club was silenced, only to be replaced by the opening squeal of "Wild Thing", all eyes turned to the stage, nothing but The Troggs to be heard.

The lights dimmed, while the small spotlights lining the cat walk intensified, and a blonde in nothing save six-inch heels, a silk robe, metallic knickers, and magically sticky little hearts strutted onto the stage, holding the robe seductively loose.

Connor knew better than to look. Didn't mean he stopped of course.

She tossed the robe, flipped her hair back, and tossed a wink that could raise the dead into the crowd.

Something about her was oddly familiar.

Her hips twisted in ways that shouldn't have been legal, she threw her hair around again, and stared out into the crowd.

Right at him.

Everything stopped, she froze in mid-gyration, nearly falling over from the odd position, recognition flashed across her eyes. Her big, brown, doe-eyes.

Dear _God_ in _Heaven_.

Evey was a stripper.

Connor was up off the barstool faster than he would have been if it had burned him, he went back towards the door as fast as his feet would carry him, but he couldn't seem to run. Dear God, dear Jesus, dear anything, what the fucking-damn-hell could she be _thinking? _

He burst back through the door with a clatter, storming down the street, trying to decide if he was more pissed off or shocked. The door banged open a second time, and he could hear an odd combination of booing and cat-calls from within.

"Connor!" The voice behind him couldn't even slow him down. He couldn't look at her. He knew he'd just lose his temper, and he didn't want to. Not at her. But Goddamnit- "Connor!" Her voice sounded closer to pleading as she grabbed onto him, her fingers latching onto his arm, digging her heels into the sidewalk to stop him. He could only glance briefly at her eyes, before looking the other way, for fear of letting his mind picture her on stage. Jesus Christ. It was so wrong that he actually had to force the thought away. "It's not what you think!" She insisted, her hands tightening around his arm, "Please don't leave."

He glanced down at her pretty little fingernails, painted bright pink, just like everything else in that goddamn club. She was still wearing the claddagh ring. The heart was still pointed in.

"Then wha' t'hell was it?"

Evey sighed, evidently relieved he wasn't going any farther, and pulled her hands back to hold the reclaimed robe closed over her more or less naked body. Problem was, she was still bare up to her arse. The silk didn't do much to disguise that. She raked fingers through her long blonde locks, then gave a tug, revealing, much to his joy, that it was a wig, her brown hair twisted up in a bunch of bobby pins. "Are you angry at me?" She asked softly, her eyes looking pitifully sad.

"No. Not't you." He tried to keep his eyes anywhere but on the now twenty-five, gorgeous-as-all-hell Evey, and the cleavage showing in the split of the robe. "Wha' t'fuck r'you doin' strippin' Evey? _Stripping_ for Chrissake. I know y'were brough' up better than tha'."

"Oh, that's what this is?" Her chin hitched up a notch. "A parental intervention? You're just here to give me the 'good catholic speal' aren't you? And here, I was happy to see you for a second. Where the fuck's your brother?" She tossed her arms out, looking near tears, emphasizing her despair. And also the fact that she had nothing but sticky sequins and a bit of shiny fabric on underneath.

"Don' fuckin' dodge the ques'ion Evey. An' wi'ye cover up fer fuck's sake? All o' Boston's gonna know whatchu look like naked." Connor grabbed the lapels of her robe and tried to hold it closed. Big mistake. He shouldn't have touched her. Now he wanted to. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. How could he even have one straying thought like that about _her_?

He was going to have to spend a long-ass time saying Hail Mary's after this.

Eve pushed his hands away. "I told you it's not what you think," Her voice was soft with hidden tears, "-you think I'm a whore though, don't you?"

"Y'know tha's not wha' I think. Jus' tell me why."

"It's only a job," She stared at the ground, her hands shaking as they held her only form of cover. She must have been freezing.

"Evey, fuckin' tell me righ' now," He tried to keep his voice calm.

She looked up at him again, her lips poking out in a semblance of a frown. "You won't believe me."

"Try me." She could tell him anything. He'd take anything over the thought that Evey had succumbed to the lowlifes that made up the first sixteen years of her existence. Connor had always hoped that they had turned that around, shown her the better side. But…well, maybe they just hadn't done it well enough. She said nothing. Connor sighed, and turned away. Nothing to do now. Evey didn't need a damn bit of rescuing. She was clearly just fine. But then he felt her fingers grab onto his coat.

"I work for the FBI," She declared, in a painfully soft voice, as though admitting a carnal sin.

"Whut?"

"I work for the fucking FBI, Connor. I'm an informant. Marianne got killed by some drunk driver not even a year after you guys disappeared, and I was screwed. I didn't get to graduate high school, I had no job, and no money. I didn't know what I was going to do. And then Paul Smecker shows up out of the blue and asks if I'm interested in a job. I didn't have a second opinion to ask about it," Guilt smacked him in the back of the head, "-but what was I supposed to say? 'No, thanks, I'd rather starve to death'? I took the job, no questions asked."

"N'now?"

"And now what?" She looked at him with confusion in her eyes. A breeze glided through the streets, and Evey gave a sudden, full-body shiver. "Look, it's freezing out here, can we talk about this somewhere warm? I'll buy coffee." Hopefulness was etched into every feature as she stared at him.

"A'right. Coffee then. Bu' y'better explain. An'…put some clothes on. Y'ain't leavin' much to t'imagination."

"Okay. Just give me a few minutes. Ten. Don't leave. I'll be back in ten minutes." She took a couple backwards steps, apparently expecting him to disappear the moment she looked away. Once satisfied he was staying, she turned and walked forward, a bounce in her step. As she reached the door of the club however, she suddenly pivoted on her heel, and literally ran back to him, latching her arms around his neck and kissing him.

Nothing fancy, more just a bump of their mouths. Didn't mean it didn't knock him nearly dead in his tracks from sheer surprise though.

"I missed you," Was all she said, vanishing into the confines of the club.

Jesus Christ. Was it just him, or was this getting a tad uncomfortable?

The minutes crawled by. Connor had a pile of three cigarettes at his feet, working on the fourth by the time Eve came back, right on time, exactly ten minutes later. Her jeans were so skintight, it almost didn't matter that she had them on, but she was wrapped up in a heavy coat, a brown plaid version of his really. Only hers was a girlier style, hugging around her slim waist. Connor made a good effort not to notice, but failed.

"Let's go," She said smiling, seeming relieved that he was still there, leading the way down the street.

As they walked along, side by side, it never even crossed Connor's mind that Murphy would still be waiting for him.

* * *

><p>Eve stared at him across the little corner table, hidden as far away from the prying ears that may be lurking in the Starbucks as they thought was possible. He shifted under her scrutiny, trying to think of all the things he'd planned to say.<p>

"I knew you guys were back," She stated, pulling the lid off her coffee cup to stir the foam around. Skinny Vanilla Latte. She hadn't even had to ask for it, the Barista knew her by name. "I knew the second they killed the Father. I didn't believe it when they tried to say you had done it, but I knew you'd come back because of it, when the Mafia started getting killed again." She put the lid back on, and took a sip, a blissful little smile caressing her face. "I love it when Kevin is working," She added absently.

"Evey-"

"I know," She sighed, setting the cardboard cup back down on the table. "An explanation. I mean, it's not like it's going to make it any better though. I was eighteen, with no real education, no skills, and I didn't have any identification until Smecker made me a social security card and driver's license. "Eve Donovan" wasn't a real person up until then. Really, it was this or waitressing, but I guess I always wanted to believe that I was doing some good too. Like The Saints," She smiled offhandedly, looking out a window rather than at him. "So I became an informant for the FBI. It may not be as effective as your method, but…I feel like it at least helps, and I don't think I'd have the guts to kill someone anyway. In Beacon Hill, or Silk at least, a lot of those high-end criminal guys come in. Drug traffickers, embezzlers, crooked politicians, stuff like that. I've even seen the Mayor of Boston in there on his birthday. Anyway, I just kept my ears open while I was dancing, or when I was bought for a private party, and I fed the information back to Smecker, then to Eunice Bloom, and now, I just sort of go freelance, seeing as I don't know what happened to either of them. But it works out, no one ever suspects the stripper to be the one snitching on them, and the wigs help too. I make a living, a pretty good one, and it's always been safer than working at one of the downtown places."

"There were ot'er thin's y'coulda done."

Eve responded with a derisive hiss of air from her nose. "Yeah. Like what? What can you do when you don't even have a high school diploma Connor? I could have been a hooker. Would you prefer that?"

"Tha's no' funny Evey."

"I don't mean it as a joke," She replied, shrugging her delicate shoulders, clad in a black thermal. Despite her occupation, Connor was relieved that Evey didn't dress the part all the time. "I tried working fast food, while Marianne was still alive, but I'm no good at it. I can't talk to people I don't know. And people groped me more then than they do now."

"Y'can't talk t'strangers, bu' y'can take yer clothes off fer 'em?" He meant it as honest curiosity, instead, it came out sounding bitter. Her face fell, and she stared down at her coffee.

"You were just all set to come and save me again, weren't you?" She asked, sounding forlorn. "I just…I shut it all out, okay? I start stripping, and I'm just a robot. I don't think about it anymore. If it makes you feel any fucking better, I cried after the first night I worked at Silk. But I got over it. I couldn't expect other people to take care of me anymore, and I thought that as long as I was doing it to help the FBI catch lousy criminals, I could live with it. It's not like I'm a stripper cuz it was my life goal. But…well, sorry it's something you disapprove of."

"I jus' don' like the idea," He said honestly. "S'a fuckin' dangerous thing yer doin' Evey. Fer more reasons then y'think. S'only gonna be a matter o' time 'fore someone realizes what yer doin'."

"I'm prepared."

"'Ow the fuck can ya be prepared?"

"I learned how to shoot a gun," Eve shrugged, "-And I bought one too. A .38. I haven't had to use it yet, but I can take six beer cans off the back fence in less then thirty seconds."

"Shootin' a beer can ain't t'same as shootin' a person."

"I know." Eve looked at him like he was speaking gibberish. "Why are you acting like I'm still a fucking kid? I went a whole eight years on my own, I didn't need you, or Marianne, or anyone else protecting me. So can you just let it go for a minute and let me be happy to see you again? Besides, you were ogling me just the same as everyone else at first, you sure as shit weren't arguing with my job then."

Connor bit back his formulating argument, right along with his tongue. Okay, so she had him there, he'd stared, maybe even ogled. But the second he realized it was sweet little Evey up there, yeah, he had a major problem with it.

"Sorry," He offered awkwardly, finding himself fiddling with the cardboard jacket circling his cup. Plain black coffee. He, unlike Evey, just couldn't fathom spending four bucks on a cup of coffee with more milk than anything. It struck him again suddenly how much things had changed since he and Murphy had left, how the years spent on a sheep farm nearly led to a severe culture-shock upon returning. Hell, the only things that had really stayed the same were McGinty's and that the scum of the Earth was still to be found in back alleys. Even the way people looked at he and Evey had changed. No more wondering whispers over whether he was a pedophile or not, no more disapproving looks. People just glazed over them like a light-fixture. Well, most of them, Connor amended, as he caught the eyes of a teenaged boy peeking at Evey's arse from behind a laptop screen. Those jeans were _damn_ tight.

"What have you been doing?" Evey interrupted his internal monologue. "I mean, while you guys were gone? I checked the national news every day, thinking maybe you'd just moved cities, but there was never anything on you guys."

"We took a li'l trip back 'ome. Bes' place in t'world t'hide."

"Ireland?"

"Aye. Where'd y'think I was from? Fuckin' Canada?"

"No. I just didn't know you were actually born there, that's all."

"Evey, I'm as Irish as t'isle is green." He laughed when she made a face at him. "Really, though. All we coulda done a'the time was hide."

"Why didn't you ever like…write me, or whatever? I thought…I don't know what I thought, but I had nightmares for weeks about you guys getting killed. And then you got put in prison…but at least I knew you were alive then."

"Da did ge' killed, so, t'ose weren' completely off."

"Oh God. I'm sorry," She pressed a hand to her mouth, as though hoping to stifle anything else she might say. "Are…are you and Murphy okay?"

"Yeah. Killed the fuckers righ' back. S'bout all we coulda done." He'd had his time to mourn, and now, The Saints were back in business. The way Da would have wanted it.

"That's terrible, I'm so sorry." She reached across the table, as though to put a comforting hand on his, then, seeming to think better of it, though he wasn't sure why, she set her hand on her coffee cup instead, sipping at it slowly.

"Y'know…" He said randomly, finally remembering that coffee was for drinking, only to find his had gone nearly cold. He frowned a bit, and set it aside, looking at Evey, taking in her adult self. She was probably the part that had changed the most. She had developed the kind of figure, the kind of beauty that artists tried so hard to capture. Curved like a fucking racetrack she was, and leggy as all hell to boot. Shakespeare would have written about Evey, if only he'd been alive to see her. She'd changed so much, but somehow, under all that, was still the same Evey, who looked at him like he was actually the Saint he tried to be. "I kinda though' tha' maybe ye'd fergotten 'bout us. S'been so long, I figgered ye'd grown up, graduated, go' yerself a good job an' moved on. Hell, I was worried tha' when I came by t'check on ya, y'wouldn' even remember who I was." Connor shrugged at her. "R'I though' mebbe ye'd hate me."

Evey shook her head. "No. I never forgot. Not even for one second. And I didn't ever hate you. I just…never wanted to believe that you would abandon me."

"I di'n't-"

"I know. But, when you're sixteen, and the only friends you've ever had just vanish in flurry of newspaper journalists telling you they've died or committed horrible crimes, you think all kind of crazy things. Marianne always said you'd come back eventually, all I had to do was keep faith. And I did."

"An' tha's all i' takes, sumtimes."

Evey smiled, clearly proud of the fact she'd held hope as long as she had. Then her eyes darted down to her pocket, where an electronic ring was going off. "Oh, come on…" She grumbled, sounding annoyed, pulling a cellphone out of her jeans pocket. One of those fancy ones with the touch-screen. Maybe it was cellphones that had changed the most since he'd been in Ireland. He still remembered when they'd been the size of his frigging head. He listened half-heartedly to the phone conversation, or at least, to the part he could hear, which wasn't much, as the individual on the other end of the line never let Evey get a full sentence out. She heaved a deep sigh as she set the device aside. "I have to go back to work," She told him, sounding like it was the last thing she wanted to do. "My boss is having a cow about me running out the way I did. Where are you guys staying? I'll come see you tomorrow." The painfully hopeful look was back. He couldn't have said no, even if he had wanted to.

"We're campin' out in a bar."

She looked unsure, not believing him, for just a second, then she nodded. "Okay, which one?"

"McGinty's." She listened intently as he gave her a quick run-down of where it was, which streets to avoid and so on. "If we're no' there when y'ge' there, jus' tell Doc, the ol' fella who runs the place, who y'are an' tha' yer waitin' fer us. An' don' take none o' 'is shoutin' personally."

"He'll shout at me?" She seemed utterly confused, and maybe just a touch frightened.

"No. No' really. He's jus' mental s'all. Go' tha'…turrets r'wha'ever they call it."

Evey nodded, a vague little look in her eyes. "You're telling me the truth, right?"

"Course, why woul' I lie t'ya?" He questioned, confused.

"I don't know…did you really want to see me, or just check up on me? You know…without me knowing you were."

Well…none o'this really wen' t'way I'd planned," Connor said, in complete honesty. This was _so _far from what he'd been expecting to happen, it was almost laughable. "Bu' I'm glad t'see ya. I'm glad t'know yer doin' alrigh' fer yerself. I don' mind wha' kinda job y'do, s'long as y'take care o' yerself. Can't say I like the idea o' a buncha criminals droolin' o'er ya, bu' s'lon' as yer safe, s'pose I can live wit' it."

"I know a creep when I see one," Evey said with a nod, downing the rest of her coffee in one fell swoop. "I should go…" She added grudgingly, standing like it was taking all her willpower to drag herself out of the chair. Connor followed suit, his legs pushing him up without his asking them too.

"I'll walk ye back," He filled in the space awkwardly, "-don' wan' you gettin' kidnapped r'mugged r'anythin'."

She flashed him a thousand-watt smile. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>Eight years later, and Evey still didn't like to walk alone. She was attached to his side, her arms wrapped around his, hugging his elbow against her chest, not saying anything, just smiling contentedly. Only now, he noticed it was a woman's body clinging to his, he noticed his arm was snug between her breasts, he noticed how pretty she was from this angle, and God help him, he couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop wondering.<p>

Dear Christ, he was going to go to hell. He just knew it. He'd never been this much of a horndog before. And it was just fucking weird and demented and _perverted_ that he was getting hot under the collar about Evey. Evey for God's sake. He was practically a parent to her!

Never mind that she was a hot-as-Hades stripper these days.

As they turned the corner to the club, Eve took a detour down the alley, explaining off-handedly that employees were supposed to use the back door, so as not to distract from the strip-teases. Connor had a wandering thought that back door had been important before.

She stopped before a metal door painted black, a flickering light the only illumination, moths fluttering about it.

"So…I guess it's goodbye then?"

"Aye."

"Is it really okay for me to come see you tomorrow?"

"Unless y'plan t'bring some o' yer FBI friends alon' fer the ride, yeah. I'll be waitin'."

She smiled, and took a hesitant step toward him. This time, he saw it coming, and stopped her, his hands on her shoulders, gently holding her at arm's length so she couldn't try to kiss him.

"S'not a good idea, Evey," He explained, when she looked at him in a confused manner.

"Wh-…Never mind. Sorry." She stared at the dirty pavement between them.

"G'on then. I don' wan' ye losin' yer job cuz o' me." He nodded towards the door, dropping his hands back to his sides.

"You don't like my job," She reminded him quietly.

"T'least it feeds ya. 'Sides, who am I t'talk abou' jobs. I 'aven't even go' a real one. Ya do wha' y'gotta do Evey."

"Thanks, Connor. For uhm, walking me back. And understanding."

"Stay ou' o' trouble, y'hear?" Was all he could think of to say in reply. Truth be told, he didn't understand. And he sure as hell didn't like it, but he didn't want to pick a fight right now. She had made a good point though, some good had been coming out of it, Evey reporting back on the high-end criminals who were always so much harder to catch. And he knew that he could have trusted Smecker and Bloom to keep her safe, keep her out of the reach of those she had the dirt on. Trouble was, they were both supposed to be long gone. Who would keep Evey safe now? The FBI would drop her just a soon as she was compromised, whether it meant her life or not didn't matter to them. As far as they were concerned, she was just an orphan that nobody would miss if she happened to go missing. An easy cover-up if anyone did get curious enough to look.

Not if he could help it. If he had his way, she'd tell him everything she knew at the moment, and The Saints would start doing business with the upper-crust of Boston, execution style. He'd warn the bastards off of her just as long as he was able.

Of course, there was still the small problem that the plan didn't involve getting her out of her current, rather precarious predicament. One wrong fact, one slip of the tongue, and Evey could turn up in a dumpster somewhere. Somehow, matters regarding Evey always ended up tied in a knot.

She smiled and opened the door with a creak, music, laughter, and smoke pouring out in a swamping wave.

"I'll see you tomorrow Connor," She reminded, giving him a cheery little wave, before vanishing into the cloud of humid smoke that was the club's interior.

"Aye, tomorrow," He acknowledged to no one in particular. He heaved out a sigh in a puff of steam. He could already tell things were about to turn into a roller-coaster ride. Connor turned for the main street again, and his eyes happened to catch a pile of cigarette butts near a crate, nearly an entire pack.

Shit. He was going to catch absolute hell for forgetting Murphy.

* * *

><p>Not much to his surprise, the first thing that greeted Connor upon returning to McGinty's was Murphy's fist in his face, a hit hard enough to put him on the floor.<p>

"You fucker!" Murphy shouted, unnecessarily loud, as he was now practically sitting on Connor, shaking him by his collar. "I waited ou' t'ere fer a fuckin' hour! A fuckin' hour in t'freezin' ass cold! I finally go in t'see if y'got in fuckin' trouble, an' t'bartender tol' me y'left wit' someone named Kitty! 'Oo the fuck is Kitty?"

"I'm guessin' tha' woul' be Evey's stage name." Connor tried to speak and ignore the steadily worsening whiplash he was getting. Abruptly, Murphy stopped shaking him, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Whut?"

Well, exact same reaction as Connor had. Go figure. "T'would seem," He explained, relatively calmly, considering he'd been laid flat in the doorway, and Murphy still had the front of his coat in a death grip, "-Evey's taken her own twis' on doin' justice."

"Wha' the fuck are ye talkin' 'bout?"

"Le' go'a me an' I jus' migh' tell ya," Connor said, batting Murphy's hands away.

* * *

><p>Connor paced while he explained. Sort of anyway. He wasn't going back and forth like a normal person, and Murphy guessed his erratic pattern had little to do with dodging the furniture wedged into their storage room home-base. In fact, he walked right into the pool table about three times.<p>

This told him that Connor was extremely, extremely distracted. Considering the story he was trying to spin, Murphy could see why. He honestly barely believed a word of it, and was merely taking it on good faith that Connor wasn't totally insane and making it up. Kit a stripper? Maybe when he quit smoking.

Observing his twin as he continued his ramshackle story, a cigarette burned nearly to the filter in his hand, which Connor had taken all of a drag off, Murphy thought that he looked a bit like a caged animal, a caged animal with it's female equivalent directly in view. About the time he finished thinking of his analogy, the word 'female' made him realize what must have happened.

"Kit grew up hot, di'n't she?" He asked nonchalantly.

Connor stilled for a moment, looking at Murphy, one eyebrow shooting up, then both furrowing into a glare. "The fuck'r you talkin' abou'?"

Murphy felt a knowing smirk smear itself onto his face. Keeping his twin in suspense, he took a long drag from his own cigarette. "Yer all uptigh' cuz Kit's a fuckin' babe now, i'n't she?"

"The fuck is tha' s'posed t'mean?" Connor snapped. There were only two things Murphy knew for sure Connor got that defensive about. One was him, and the other was when someone was starting to suspect he was more emotional then he let on. Of course, he let everyone know when he was being pissy, but that was another matter altogether. Truth was, Connor really was quite the softie on the inside, only, he didn't like anybody, particularly male friends, to know that. This gooey side of his had been particularly visible when it came to Kit though. Connor would have done anything for her, and Murphy knew he still probably would.

"T'means I think y'go' a fuckin' 'ard on fer her."

The glare intensified. "T'ain't like tha'," He informed curtly. "It's Evey. That'd be fuckin' messed up."

"S'not like she's Jail-bait 'nymore," Murphy reminded, really only being half-serious. Connor glared a bit more darkly.

"Tha's not the fuckin' point."

"Wha' then?" He asked innocently.

"Y'know we're almos' forty, don' ye?"

"Aye." Not to say Murphy liked to think about the fact that they were.

"She's barely even twen'y-five. An' I'm practically 'er Da Murph'."

"Does she t'ink tha'?"

"I…I dunno. I guess no'." Murphy only shrugged at him, informing him that he would have to elaborate. "She tried t'kiss me."

"Lucky dog," Murphy grinned, "-been outta prison a week an' a'ready got ye a girl." Connor made a face, Murphy continued to grin. "C'mon now, I ain't bein' serious. I jus' think yer thinkin' abou' it t'much. Mebbe she's jus' 'appy t'see ya. Y'were 'er favorite o' the two o' us. An' yer not "practically 'er Da". We took care o' 'er fer less then a month. She ain't a baby bird who's gonna imprint ya r'wha'ever."

"She's still only a kid…" Connor offered as a half-hearted argument, already, as far as Murphy could tell, immersed back into whatever internal debate he'd been having before.

"Dunn't sound tha' way t'me," Murphy said, lighting himself another cigarette. As a matter of fact, it sounded to him like Kit was a woman in love. Connor was probably too stubborn to accept the fact, convinced it was some Elektra complex she had, but Murphy was willing to bet it was honest-to-goodness love. A shallow connection like that would fade, real feelings didn't. And Kit's had lasted for a whole eight years, not even knowing where Connor was. In his book, that constituted something serious.

At least he now understood why Kit had liked Connor more.

* * *

><p>On their way back to their "hideout", as it had been christened by Romeo, from purchasing new artillery, the noise from McGinty's rumbled out at them before they had even opened the door.<p>

"Wha' d'ya s'pose is goin' on in there?" Murphy asked, peering though the window. "They usually aren' this loud t'is early n't'day."

"Bea's me." Connor shrugged, unable to see anything beyond Murphy's head, and the overfilled duffel bag slung up on his shoulder. "We're no' gonna figger anythin' out standin' 'ere though, r'we?"

"Shu' t'fuck up. I jus' wanted t'make sure we weren' gonna ge' shot walkin' in," Murphy replied gruffly, aiming an arm back to hit him, but Connor sidestepped it easily, as Murphy wasn't actually looking, and didn't want to drop his bag either. "S'let's go a'ready." Murphy yanked the door open in a show of bravado, though Connor could see he was still scanning the bar on his way in, and he followed suit. Never could be too careful these days. After the whole midget incident, they were careful about looking at more than their eyelevel as well.

The din of conversation was louder inside, and they now understood why. Evey sat at the bar counter.

McGinty's wasn't exactly a place famous for it's Ladies Nights, as it was, most women in the neighborhood had learned to avoid it like the plague, in order to stay out of the exact predicament Evey was currently in; that being to end up boxed in by a wide array of drunk Irishmen. Everyone who was a regular patron at the bar was more or less fascinated with their unreasonably attractive feminine company, seemingly taking turns talking to and/or hitting on her, and didn't she just look right at home, politely smiling and laughing at unfunny jokes, while accepting occasional drinks bought for her, and ever-so-casually, pouring most of them back into the bottle when no one was looking.

"Holy shit. Izzat-" Murphy started, but Connor needn't answer, as Evey happened to look up and spot them. She hopped off her bar stool and bounded towards them.

"Murphy!" She grabbed him in a hug, and Murphy laughed, swinging her around like neither of them had aged a day.

"Damn Kit," He said, setting her on her feet and holding her at arms length to examine her better. Another pair of skintight jeans, only today, instead of a thermal, she had one of those lacey tank-tops and a paper-thin brown cardigan on. She looked a bit more like a stripper, but in a respectable fashion. "Damn," Murphy said again, grinning widely, and looking first at her, then at Connor, "-yer fuckin' sexy these days, y'know tha'?"

She blushed. "You think?"

"I know't," He laughed again, giving her another firm hug. "S'fuckin' good t'see ya though."

"Yeah, I missed you guys a lot." She nodded solemnly. Murphy, apparently having his momentary fill of affection, stepped aside so she had a shot at Connor. No doubt he'd start fighting for attention later in the evening though. She didn't say anything to Connor, just buried herself in his coat, seemingly with no intentions of removing herself for the evening.

* * *

><p>There wasn't much in the way of quiet in the bar, where they could catch up the way they ought to after eight years, but the corner, as far away from the rambunctious bunch at the bar as they could manage, it was reasonably quieter, and they could talk without having to shout.<p>

Connor gathered that Murphy hadn't believed him about Evey's new occupation, judging by the way he listened to her story with slightly bug-eyes. He wondered if he was an unreliable story teller, or Murphy just hadn't believed him because he was a jerk. Probably a little of both.

They, on the other hand, hadn't much more to tell her than what Connor had gone over the previous night. It wasn't an elaborate tale of being on lam, and it wasn't a story with a lot of twists and turns either. Pretty straight forward as a matter of fact. They'd temporarily been forced to abandon their posts as The Saints to become sheep farmers. And that was about all. Everything else she'd need to know, she could have read in the news, or seen on TV. They'd been well documented once they'd given anyone evidence to suspect they were back. All in all, it made Connor feel worse.

While she'd been left here, making all sorts of hard choices and dealing with dangerous criminals, he'd been sitting idly by in a green fucking field somewhere. Never mind that he had missed it, that he had often wondered whether he'd ever get to finish what they had started, that his fingers itched for a gun whenever he happened to glance at the news and see a new murderer, a new rapist, a new drug cartel on the loose. That didn't change the fact that they hadn't been here. That for eight long years, they hadn't been doing what they had sworn to do.

Of course, as Da had often been quick to remind them, when things got to seeming that way, they wouldn't have done anyone much good rotting in prison. It comforted him only a bit. But Evey had a smile plastered on her face while they talked, and that helped.

Although, Connor really should have known better than to expect the peace to last.

No one was quite sure when the six men in pressed dark suits had shown up in the bar. No one had been aware of them even entering. They casually strode over to the bar, each watching a different person. The center-most one, whom Connor assumed to be the leader, from the way he was carefully shielded by the others of the group, was looking at them. He was an older man, late forties if he had to peg an age to him, well built, but starting to soften with age, with his graying hair combed back impeccably. Connor watched them out of the corner of his eye, not liking the look of them one bit. The Mobs knew better than to send their goons here, and something about these guys screamed 'Mafia' to him. He nudged Murphy under the table with his foot, gesturing at them slightly. Murphy only nodded, saying silently that he had figured so as well. Evey looked too, sensing the tension between the twins, and her breath hitched.

Next thing Connor knew, she bolted.

"Wha' the fu-"

"Get the little cunt!" The center one shouted. The twins, as well as those still aware enough to catch the shout, took this as their cue to intervene. After all, 'cunt' was certainly not a word you used around a lady, that in itself was enough reason to kick the ever loving shit out of these guys. The fact that they had malicious intents would be dealt with in a moment.

There was broken glass, flying teeth, blood and spit spraying across the bar, and even, if Connor heard right, a few cracked bones at the end of it. Nostalgia wasn't quite the right word, but it sure did take him back.

"Fuckers," Murphy growled, giving one of them a kick to the ribs. "The fuck y'think yer doin', bustin' inta our bar an' tryin' to fuck wit' our girl? Huh?" When the gangster didn't answer, Murphy gave him a few more kicks, repeating his question each time his boot connected with the groaning heap on the floor.

Doc, who had been placidly standing behind the bar, more or less used to this sort of thing, suddenly became very frantic. "I-i-i-in't there o-o-o-one o' t'em m-m-m-m-m- Fuck! T'ere's only f-f-f-five," He stammered out, pointing at the floor violently.

"Wha'?" Murphy swiveled to stare at Doc curiously. "Wha' d'ya mean?"

Connor looked down, and counted the piles of bloody bruises on the floor. Shit, the old fella was right for a change. There were only five of them. They had come in with six. The one in the middle was gone.

"Christ! Evey!" Connor sprinted to the nearly forgotten bags on the floor, grabbing the first gun he could find the ammo for, which happened to be a 9mm, thank God for that, and started for the back door, the direction Evey had bolted minutes ago.

Please dear God let her be alright. Please dear God let her be hidden somewhere, the fucking gangster wandering around looking for her so he could shoot the prick. Please dear fucking God don't let her get hurt now. The door swung open, and Connor wasn't sure his whether his prayers had been answered, or instantly rejected.

The back alley that the door led into had once led out into the street on the other side of the apartment buildings, but when too many drunks had stumbled into the shipping roads leading to the various factories situated on this end of town, the city had closed it off with a chain-link gate, a heavy padlock holding it closed that no one had ever known there to be a key for. Evey hadn't known this, and had run for it, only to find a dead-end, running right into a cage for the guy to corner her.

She wasn't hurt, not badly at least. Looked like he may have slapped her a few times, but Connor was more worried about the hunting knife pressed neatly where it could slip between her ribs at a moments notice, the Mafioso's hand clamped over her throat, holding her firmly back against him, using her as a fucking shield like the pussy he was.

"You let me walk out of here, and she'll live," He made his demand instantly, knowing quick negotiation would be his only way out.

"Let 'er go, an' I'll shoot ye in the head, no' in t'balls." Brave words, considering the gangster still had the upper-hand. Connor could shoot him, without hitting Evey, but that knife still worried him. If he happened to fall just so, she might still be in grave danger. Her entire body was shaking, staring at him with catatonic eyes. Eve had shut down the moment this guy had shown up. Must be someone from the past. The long, long ago past.

"Back t'fuck up-" Murphy was directing behind him, knowing better than to let a crowd gather in the door way. The last thing they wanted was for knife-boy to feel trapped. Connor said a silent thanks that Murphy hadn't had to ask to know.

"Drop your gun, or I'll fillet her right now." His hand tightened around her throat, Evey gave a tiny gasp, a tiny squeak of fear. Connor dropped the gun.

"Evey, yer gonna be a'right," He told her, knowing that it probably didn't do much in the way of comfort, but he supposed it was better than nothing. She nodded as best she could, in complete and utter faith. Connor could only hope he wouldn't let her down.

"Alright?" Knife-boy sneered at him. "Nothing about this little beauty will be alright when I'm through with her, huh? This bitch put me away in prison. This little cunt's the reason Allesio is dead."

"Wha' the fuck does Allesio 'ave t'do wit' ye?" Connor bristled. "That was fuckin' years ago."

"Why don't you tell him?" The gangster questioned in Evey's ear, just loud enough for Connor to hear. "Tell him all about us, my little beauty." She was silent, and shook her head, again, only to the best of her abilities. He tsk-ed at her, and looked at Connor levelly. "Surely you understand that justice must be done. Blood for blood. We all know what you did to the Roman. For what he did to your father. All I'm asking, is the same favor." His facts were a little off, but Connor figured that wasn't exactly the point to argue right now.

"I ain't gonna let y'hurt 'er." Only one small problem, he didn't know how he would go about stopping him either. He could hear Murphy rattling around in the bags within the bar. If nothing else, the son of a bitch wasn't going to get out of here alive.

That comforted him not a bit. "B'sides," He added, taking a careful step closer, a little to the left, "-she i'n't t'one tha' killed tha' fuckin' perverted rapist. I did. Shot 'im in the fuckin' 'ead."

He was glaring hard at Connor now, more or less entirely forgetting Evey, the knife slackening just a tad. Good. So far, this was going the way he'd hoped. Connor was fairly certain he had seen this in a movie once, but he wasn't sure which, and could only wing it now, hoping it worked out the way he wanted. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, silently asking Murphy to wait a few more seconds, who merely stared back, demanding to know what the hell he was trying to pull. Connor just wanted to make sure there was absolutely no chance of that asshole hurting Evey before they killed him. He wanted to get that knife away from her precious little lungs. Luckily, Murphy decided to oblige him, but kept his finger on the trigger of the gun he'd rigged up.

Connor took a few more small steps toward the knife-wielding psycho. He backed away a step, dragging Evey along with him, but he had only so much space before he was pressed against the gate.

"He fuckin' cried," Connor said, trying to sound nonchalant as he advanced one step further. He was close enough to touch Evey, but knew better than to try and wrestle her out of his grip. "He cried like a fuckin' t'ree year ol' 'fore I killed the bastard."

Apparently, that was the last straw. He lunged at Connor, spewing curses in Italian. Evey screamed. Not because she'd been hurt, thank God for that. But the Mafioso's hunting knife was now buried several inches into Connor's left shoulder.

Pain rocketed through his body, burning down his arm like hellfire. He forced his body to work, ratcheted his now-bad arm up to grab his wrist, not letting the gangster go now that he had the knife away from Evey, and cracked the knuckles of his undamaged side into the fucker's teeth, feeling the front two come loose, and cartilage crushing down.

"Son of a bitch…" He hissed through gritted teeth. Knife-boy went down, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and Connor now got to contend with a knife in his shoulder, _and _potential broken knuckles. Tuh-fucking-riffic.

"Connor-?"

"Jes' a sec Evey. Gotta finish wha' I started." He strode over to where he had dropped the gun, scooped it up, and came back to the Mafioso's side. He was already beginning to regain consciousness, holding his face and moaning. "'Ello motherfucker. Now, why don' ye tell me what the fuck Allesio 'ad t'do wit' ya?"

He hocked a gob of blood and spit in response, but he was so fucking cross-eyed it missed Connor by a mile. Though it successfully pissed him off. He blew out a knee in response, and the haggard body on the ground started screaming.

"You fuckin' answer me, r'the nex' one'll be 'igher." He pointed the barrel at his groin, just to make sure he got the point.

"I won't tell you bible-freak pricks anything," Was his groaned response.

"Suit yerself. Say 'ello to Allesio fer me n'Evey when y'see 'im in hell." Connor moved the gun higher again, and put a bullet through his eye. And he was thus abruptly attacked by a concerned Murphy.

"Shit-" Murphy started, warily eyeing the knife.

"S'gotta come ou'," Connor grunted. "'Urry up, 'fore the feelin' comes back."

Murphy took a hesitant hold of the knife handle, looking at Connor skeptically. "Y'ready?"

Connor bit down on his opposite coat sleeve. "Jus' fuckin' do it," He muffled. Murphy obediently gave the knife a good yank, and it pulled free, along with a geyser of blood down Connor's chest. "Holy fuckin' Jaysus…" Was all he managed, clamping a hand over the now freely bleeding wound. Before anyone else could say anything, lights started flickering on around them.

"Oi! The fuck is going on down there?"

"I'm calling the police!"

"Fuckin' 'ell. We leave an' a buncha do-gooders move inta our neighborhood," Connor tried to huff a sarcastic laugh, but really only got a pained wheeze. Murphy took charge accordingly.

"Kit," He rushed to her, and she stared at him like a dead fish. Poor girl was still comatose. "Kit, listen, y'gotta take care o' Conn' fer me, okay?" He set his hands on her shoulders, and she jolted as though she hadn't even known he was there. "Eve? Evey!" Murphy gave her a little shake, and she finally seemed to come-to, blinking several times as if to clear her head.

"What?" Her eyes clouded, confused at all the sudden noise.

"Y'need t'take Conn' upstairs, a'right? Y'know any first aid?"

"Uhm…a little…"

"A li'ls all y'need. Y'take 'im upstairs, an' doctor 'im up. Can ye do tha'?"

"I…I guess…"

"Good. I'ma go get rid o' the body, and ge' those other guys outta 'ere. You take care o' m'brother while I'm gone, a'right?"

"Okay…"

"Good lass," Murphy gave her an encouraging smile before grabbing the dead guy under his arms, and hauling him towards the door. Wordlessly, a couple patrons of the bar stepped in to help him. What happened in, or in this case, behind, an Irish pub fucking stayed in an Irish pub.

Evey had taken Connor's arm, pulling him inside and to the stairs, though he really wasn't sure which of them was doing the supporting. She sat him on the couch he had been using as a makeshift bed, and for a long moment, only stared blankly at him, then at the blood that had dribbled down his arm, accumulating on her sweater sleeves.

"Uh-" He began awkwardly, and Evey suddenly kicked into overdrive.

"Fucking shit…I'm sorry. Jesus…that's a lot of blood…okay, okay, we need to clean it. Can you get your coat off? I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I should have run. Or stomped on his foot. Or shot the motherfucker, or something! Christ, I'm so fucking useless. I need alcohol. And rags. A lot of rags. I'm sorry…"

"Evey," He grabbed a hold of her one of her wildly fidgeting hands. "Evey, swee'heart, s'okay. Everythin's okay, righ'?"

"It's not okay. You've been _stabbed_." She gesticulated frantically at his shoulder, and then held her bloody sleeves out to him, as if he hadn't seen them the first time. "You're fucking bleeding everywhere!"

"I ain't dyin'. S'calm the hell down, okay? An' the sooner y'patch me up, the sooner I'll stop bleedin'." He kept his voice level, calm, despite the fact the wound throbbed like nobody's business. It seemed to work to calm Eve down though, she took a deep breath, and then another, and at the end of that exhale, she was all business.

"You need to get your coat and your shirt off. I can't do shit with either of them. Can you move your shoulder well enough to do that?"

"Aye."

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute, try not to move it anymore than you need to."

"Don'ye worry 'bout that." She nodded at him, and briskly headed for the stairs again. The coat wasn't bad. That was just a matter of getting it off his non-bloody shoulder, and then pulling it off his other arm, movement of the wound barely needed. Getting his shirt off was different obstacle course entirely. About the time he was awkwardly poised with one sleeve bunched up around his neck and his good arm stuck half-way through it, Evey returned with a big mixing bowl of what seemed to be hot-water from Doc's kitchen, a bottle of whiskey from the bar, a supply of bar towels, a glass, a handful of cotton balls, some tape, and what he supposed must be her purse, though he hadn't the faintest inkling what good mascara or a compact would do in this situation. She set all these things on the billiards table, and glanced at him, the corners of her mouth twitching with a want to smile.

"You want help?"

"Go ahead an' laugh," Was his disgruntled response.

"I'm not going to laugh." Though she did smile a little, and walked over, pulling the hem of his shirt out enough for him to slide his arm through, then pulling it up a little trying to prevent hurting his shoulder. "Duck your head through." Feeling childish, he did so, and Evey slid it off his other arm gingerly, laying the bloody shirt on the table next to her medical supplies, such as they were. Wordlessly, she poured some whisky into the glass, took a sip from what was left, and then handed him the bottle.

"Good call, darlin'," Connor remarked, taking a swig off the bottle and hoping the burn would distract him. He'd been drinking in the bar, though not heavily, and it was doing absolute shit to numb the pain.

"Don't get drunk. I think you bleed more when you're drunk," Evey warned, turning her purse over, dumping the contents onto the table, and riffling through them, producing dental floss and a set of needles in a plastic case.

"Y'come prepared fer this kinda shite?" Connor asked, eyeing the needles.

"No. But I've had to fix costumes on-the-go a couple of times." Evey shrugged, selecting a small needle and dropping it into the glass of whiskey, along with a length of the floss.

"From wha' I saw, there wa'n't a whole lo' t'call a costume." She gave him a thin smile in response.

"Yeah, suppose you're right," She said with a shrug, scooping up a couple of the rags, and the bowl of water. She set the bowl on her lap, sitting next to him, and he took another long draw of whiskey as she started dabbing away at the blood with scalding water, wincing every time she got close to the cut, despite his best efforts. "Sorry."

"Nothin' t'worry 'bout, bullets hurt worse." He managed a bravado one-armed shrug. All the same, he could see her straining to be gentler. "Y'gonna tell me 'bout 'im?"

"Who?"

"'Oo the fuck y'think? How'd y'know 'im?"

"I didn't."

"Evey, don' y'fuckin' lie to me. Y'never kept secrets from me b'fore, so don' star' now."

"It's not a secret. Just…bad." She stilled for a moment. Connor passed the bottle of Jameson over to her. She took another small, lady-like sip appreciatively. "Trying to loosen my tongue, huh?" She asked with a smirk, then shook her head, and handed it back to him. "What's the Gary Allan song? 'Drinkin' dark whiskey, tellin' white lies'…" She said the words with a hint of a tune.

"'Aven't a fuckin' clue wha' yer talkin' 'bout darlin'," He said with another half-shrug. "But don' be telling' me no white lies." He added on a silent thought that if he wanted to be loosening anything, it was those tight-as-hell jeans she was wearing. And then promised himself a good, swift kick when she wasn't looking.

It was the blood loss, Connor decided, it was the fact that he was bleeding out all the blood meant for his brain. That's what had him thinking such things. Or maybe it was the whiskey. It didn't matter.

"His name was Alfonse," She said after a moment of quiet, deciding she had enough of the blood wiped up to begin her operation, retrieving the whiskey glass from the table, and soaked the tips of her fingers, about thirty seconds for each hand. Then she pulled the floss from the alcohol, and threaded the needle. "Grit your teeth." He obeyed, and she dumped half the glass over the stab-wound.

"Fuck! Shit woman, warn a body 'fore you do tha'!"

"If I'd warned you, you might have moved," Evey said matter-of-factly. "Hold still."

"'Ow d'ya know wha' yer doin'?"

"TV."

"'Scuse me?" He suddenly felt this was a very bad idea.

"I watch medical shows all the time. How hard can it be?"

"No' 'ard, assumin' yer a fuckin' doctor."

"Oh, right, because using an iron is so much more efficient." She jabbed a finger pointedly at a garish scar on his lower abdomen from a past escapade. Damn painful one that had been. "Besides," She added, placing her fingers on either side of the wound, pinching it together ever-so-carefully, "-it's too deep for cauterizing it to do any good, it would just keep bleeding underneath. This way, it still gets oxygen and can heal from the inside out. You might need to be in a sling for a bit though, so the muscles can heal right."

"Oh, aye. Y'learn tha' from "Grey's Anatomy", did ye?" He asked sarcastically.

"No. I read that one," She replied smartly. He puffed an annoyed breath, but figured she was actually probably right about it being too deep for burning it to do any good, and nodded for her to continue, taking another long swallow of whiskey.

"So, this Alfonse fella, 'ow'd 'e know Allesio?" He asked, as she pushed him back into the couch, for a better angle he assumed, and started stitching him up carefully, her loops perfectly even. At this point, he seemed to be drunk enough not to feel the needle pulling at his skin. Or the burning of the alcohol could be distracting him from minor pain.

"He's…he _was _Allesio's brother. And as bad as Allesio may have been, Alfonse was worse. He did some of the most fucked-up shit...Allesio found out some of us were getting…overtime so to speak, never mind it wasn't exactly our choice, and was convinced we were holding out on him, or giving him away to his brother. So he got rid of us. One way or another. I was the last one. And…you know from there." He gave nod, a somewhat vague one, the whiskey sitting heavy in his brain by now. "A few years ago, they had me testify against him, and he went to prison, but only for drugs, because my statute of limitations was up. They told me it was only a matter of time before more evidence turned up, they swore he'd never get out, that I'd never see him again. But, well, clearly that was a fucking lie."

"'E's gone fer good now Evey," Connor reminded.

"Yeah," She nodded, standing up, having finished her stitches, and retrieved a small pair of scissors, the cotton, and the tape. She tied the floss off and snipped it, followed by dabbing over it with an alcohol soaked cotton ball, taping a couple on over the still slightly-bleeding wound, as a substitute for a real bandage. They sat in silence for a few seconds. "You know," She said suddenly, standing again, and gathering everything up from the couch, "-it's kind of weird. We don't see each other for eight years, and when we finally do, the first thing you have to do is save my ass all over again."

"Aye. N'a damn fine ass 'tis too," Connor said, giving her back pocket and appreciative pat. She gave him an appraising eye.

"I told you not to get drunk," She scolded.

"I ain't drunk."

"Yes you are. Connor, that bottle was nearly full when I brought it up here." He glanced at the three-fourths empty bottle in his hand, then shrugged and downed the rest of it. She merely took the bottle from his fingers gently, brushing over his scabbing knuckles lightly. "Thank you. For everything you've done for me Connor."

"I'd do't all again." It was the honest-to-God truth. He'd do just about anything short of killing Murphy for her. Somehow, that seemed alright. "I t'ink I'm in love wit' ye," He blurted suddenly, followed by: "Fuck! Sorry. Yer righ', I'm fuckin' drunk. Talkin' crazy-"

Well, what a way to put himself in a hole. He hadn't meant to think that, let alone say it. He sputtered about for a few moments, trying to think of something to rationalize it. Goddamn Irish Whiskey. He'd never had more loathing for it than he did right now. Evey only looked at him with an expression he couldn't even begin to describe.

"It's not crazy." She sat on the couch again, and suddenly their close proximity felt awkward. She twisted her claddagh ring around her finger. "You know I haven't had sex in eight years?" He only stared, slightly agape. Not exactly a good subject right now, was it? "I haven't ever had a boyfriend. Never really wanted one, because I've been in love for a very long time."

"An' tha's why ye wear t'ring."

"Uh-huh. I promised myself to only love you."

"Now yer the one talkin' crazy."

"It's not crazy," Evey said again. "It's the truth."

"Yer too youn' t'be fallin' in love, Evey."

"Says who?" Her chin went up, just a tad, the same as it had yesterday night. The only way he could tell she felt hurt. "I can make my own decisions just fine Connor."

"I know tha'. Bu' 'ow d'ya know wha' y'wan' if ye've never tried likin' someone else?"

"I did try. But it never felt right, I would always go home and think of you instead. I love _you_." Evey gave a little sniff with the words, and abruptly her eyes were pouring tears down her cheeks. She raised her hands, probably intending to wipe her eyes with her sleeves, but then remembered they were covered in his blood. Connor reached over, brushing tear-tracks of makeup off her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Was all he managed to say at first. "Evey…I don' wan' the kinda life I live fer ya. I don' wan' somethin' like tonigh' t'ever 'appen again."

"I don't care."

"Bu' I do. I watched m'Ma's life fall apar' cuz of m'Da following t'same path I am. S'only gonna 'urt ye swee'heart."

"It's not going to go away."

"I know. An' I'm sorry."

She heaved a deep, melancholy sigh. "Sorry," She said suddenly, sounding like everything was alright. "This was probably a bad time. Anyway, here." She fiddled with the claddagh, pulled it off, and placed it in his palm. "I guess it's…kind of silly to wear that now." She tried to laugh, but it sounded more akin to a sob. She pressed a hand to her mouth, muffling it, still mindful of the blood soaked into the sleeve, and stood. Connor couldn't help but notice she had a tan line from the ring. "I'm just…going to go now. I think I've embarrassed myself well enough now."

She made it all of two steps, before Connor stood as well, grabbed her by the arm, and kissed her. It was a damn fool stupid thing to do, and he knew it. But he did not give a flying fuck at the moment, because he liked it. For a long time, all he could do was kiss her, and try not to think too much about how bad things could get.

Eventually, the thoughts won him over. He leaned away, Evey clung to him like her life depended on his warmth. His drunken, shirtless warmth. Wasn't this just a recipe for a bad romantic movie? Or maybe an action movie with a half-assed romantic storyline thrown in at the last minute to appease certain fans. He'd decide that later.

"Evey, I'm no' the greates' person in t'world. Y'gotta be sure y'wan' this. Y'gotta be sure y'wan' me. Cuz I don' wanna 'urt ya, bu' I don' wan'…I don' wan' y'_gettin_' 'urt. There're people who'll kill me n' Murphy jus' as soon as they see us. An' they'll do the same t'ya if they think y'ave anythin' t'do wit' us. I migh' ge' arrested again. There's a lo' tha' coul' 'appen."

"I know. It's okay."

Somehow, her simple response seemed to make everything seem that way. That everything was going to be fine, everything had a simple solution. For now, Connor chose to believe that. He'd work out all the gritty details in the morning.

"Can I stay here?" Evey asked, looking up at him with the same innocent, adoring eyes she'd always looked at him with.

"Aye. Y'can stay 'ere s'lon' as ye want."

-Fin.


End file.
